


Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar 21 thru 40

by thebasement_archivist



Category: Mission: Impossible, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-31
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Ethan Hunt is assigned to infiltrate a Colombian drug czar's organization, by posing as an American drug trafficker. He must be accompanied by an agent to pose as his lover, but none of the IM force meet the requirements. FBI agent Fox Mulder is determined to be the perfect candidate.





	Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar 21 thru 40

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar by Scribe

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 21

Fox ran a finger experimentally across the thin, jagged scar that ran across his right shoulder. "This is so weird. I've got other scars..."

"I know." Ethan caressed his flank. Fox was shirtless, examining himself in the mirror hung on the closet door.

"Stop it." Fox swatted at Ethan's hand without any real conviction. "But this feels REAL."

"Looks real." Ethan ran his hand over it. Then, with an impish grin, he leaned over and ran his tongue along it. Fox shivered. The appliance was so thin that scarcely any sensation was lost. "But it tastes..." Ethan did it again, and smacked his lips thoughtfully. "I'm afraid it TASTES like... chicken."

Fox shoved him. "I thought I WAS chicken."

"Rooster, maybe."

Fox looked at himself in the mirror again. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?"

Ethan rubbed his chin on Fox's shoulder. "Yes, we are. One more detail, then a test. We leave day after tomorrow for England."

"England? Not Columbia?"

"We go to Columbia from England. Our other selves are there now. I spoke with our operative yesterday."

"That tone of voice is ominous. What did he say?"

"It's been decided that one final test is needed to see if we can pass. They want us to take out our opposite numbers."

"Take out?" Fox's voice was alarmed. "Look, I TOLD you..."

"Relax, lover." Ethan nuzzled the side of his neck in a move that was calculated to soothe the FBI agent. It helped that Ethan enjoyed it, too. "In this case, 'take out' means we put the snatch on them. Neutralize them so other agents can whisk them away. Then the next morning, Connor Galbraith and Daniel Ballard check out of their London hotel, and fly to South America for their little business venture.

Fox blew out a breath. "This keeps getting more complicated."

"Life is like that."

"What's the detail we haven't taken care of? I mean, I dress like Daniel..." He thickened his accent to a drawl, "I talk like Daniel. I have his hair, his contacts, even his scar. What's left?"

"You don't have his fingerprints."

Fox was silent for a moment. "If there's one thing I've learned working for the FBI, it's that no two people in history have had the same fingerprints, not even identical twins. Close, but not the same. If clones were a posibility..." He checked himself. Later Ethan wondered about this, and made a mental note to ask him about it when things cooled down. "Even clones don't have the same fingerprints."

"Granted we can't permanently alter anyone's loops and whorls, but we CAN do temporary."

Ethan opened the box that had been sitting in the mailbox that morning, and extracted what looked like two extra large watercolor boxes. When he opened one, though, the long row of little cakes were all a uniform putty color. "Look at those."

Mulder peered closely. The surfaces of the disks were not smooth. There were faint ridges: ridges that formed the generically familiar loops and whirls of fingerprints. "These are yours, those are mine."

"Pardon my saying so, but what the fuck do we DO with them?"

"Patience. Sit down. You'll need to be steady for a minute or so." Fox sat at the table. Ethan took up another unlabled aerosol can, shaking it. "Hold out your hands, fingers spread as wide as you can, palm up." Fox obeyed. "This is going to be cold, and I'll have to work quickly once it's on you. I'm going to press each of your fingers on one of those disks. Don't roll them off, like fingerprinting. Don't move them at all till I tell you to, okay? These are kind of fragile, and we only get one chance. We might not NEED the right fingerprints, but I believe in belt AND suspenders."

"Liar. You have no problem at all with pants falling down." Ethan smirked, and sprayed Mulder's hands. He hadn't been lying: it was cold as hell.

The stuff felt rather thick: clingy. Ethan put down the can, took hold of Mulder's hands, and quickly and firmly pressed each fingertip onto a seperate disk. "Hold it."

"You said that already." Fox waited patiently, while Hunt watched the sweep hand on the clock.

"Alright. Pick them up GENTLY, pulling up from back toward tip." Fox did so. "Show me your hands."

Ethan took Mulder's hand in his own, examining them. "Worked."

Fox stared at his fingers, perplexed, and flexed them. "Did that stuff absorb into my skin? I can't feel it."

"No, it's there."

"I can't see it, either."

"Trust me. To anyone who dusts an object you've touched from now till we remove that, you ARE Daniel Ballard. Now..." He shoved the can at Mulder and held out his own hands, palms up and fingers spread. "Do me."

Mulder shook the can and said, expression very serious, "You know, Hunt, there are a lot of ways to interpret those two words."

Ethan bit his lip, struggling against the grin that wanted to break out. "With the can, you horny bastard."

Mulder's eyebrows rose. "I'd think that would hurt."

Ethan gave up the fight and laughed.

As he sprayed the stuff on Ethan's hands, Fox murmured, "It's because they don't trust me, isn't it?"

Ethan hesitated, but he couldn't let the substance dry before he applied his fingers to the templates. He carefully fitted them in place, then said slowly, "You're an unknown quantity to them, Mulder. A lot is riding on this, and they want to be sure." Fox grunted. Ethan gave him a level stare. "I trust you. I'm the one who's going in there with you watching my butt."

"And I KNOW you'll be watching MY butt, so we have sort of a mutual ass-watching society." His tone was flip, but Ethan could see in his eyes that he was still troubled.

"I don't like this either. I'm feeling schizophrenic enough as it is, just knowing there's someone out there who resembles me so closely. And now, practically living as him..." Fox ran down, not really sure how to express what he was feeling. For the last few days, they had been LIVING as Ballard and Galbraith. They presented themselves as Danny and Connor whenever they left the apartment.

In the apartment, they continued the charade. If Fox slipped and called Ethan by his real name, he was ignored till he corrected himself. It didn't happen often, and hadn't happened at all for a while.

But it was getting to Mulder. Especially when Ethan called him 'Danny' while they were making love. He somehow felt like he was cheating another man out of an orgasm.

Ethan saw that Mulder wasn't just whining; he was truly upset about this. That bothered Hunt. He genuinely cared about Mulder now, and he was on the point of bringing him into a volatile situation, where his life would, without a doubt, be at risk. He would be using his lover, no matter how nicely the idea was packaged in patriotism and duty. Ethan hated that like poison, but he didn't see any way around it. All he could do was try to reassure Mulder that he wasn't subsumed into the role he was being asked to play. He had to let him know that he was valued as himself. He thought he knew a way that might help, at least a little. And even if it didn't, they would both enjoy the hell out of it.

He carefully pried his fingers up from the templates and checked the surface of the pads for tearing or distortion. Perfect. He flexed his fingers, and gave Mulder a lecherous smile, "Hey, Mulder, how about we put Galbraith's and Ballard's fingerprints all over each other?"

Mulder answered the smile, but his effort was a little faint. "How many times have I turned you down, Hunt? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, like the Monty Python boys say, 'something completely different'." He was pulling Mulder into the bedroom.

"You're scaring me." He said dryly. "I'll ask again: What do you have in mind?"

Hunt was unbuttoning Mulder's shirt. "Something that Connor and Daniel have probably never done."

"Oh, man, you're REALLY scaring me now." Ethan was pulling Mulder's shirt tail out of his pants. Mulder was pretty sure by now that if it didn't involve the dead, bodily wastes, or farm animals, he would do whatever Ethan wanted. "I want to know what you're thinking of before this goes any farther."

"I'm thinking," Ethan kissed him deeply, working his tongue hungrily in Mulder's mouth for a moment. "That I want you to top me this time."

Mulder's mouth dropped open in astonishment. Never one to miss an opportunity, Ethan kissed him again. His eyes were a little wary. Testing, he said, "Is that what you really want, Con?"

Ethan jerked off his own T-shirt, exposing nipples that were already hard. "Fuck what Connor wants. This is what _I_ want! And don't you dare be Danny when we do this, Mulder. It's you I want in my ass, not him."

As Ethan had hoped, desire flared in Mulder's eyes, the gold of the hazel seeming to darken as his pupils dilated. Mulder pushed him back on the bed, falling on top of him. Ethan quickly spread his legs, then hooked his ankles up being Mulder's back "Yeah, like this. I want to look you in the face when you come inside me." He arched his pelvis up, gringind an already respectable erection agains Fox.

"Oh, damn!" Mulder gasped. "Christ, Hunt, you keep doin' that and I won't MAKE it inside you before I come."

"What do I care? I'll just suck you till you get it up again."

The raunchy talk had the desired effect. Fox ripped at his and Ethan's clothes almost frantically, swearing when he had difficulty with the fastenings. Ethan kept talking. "That's right, Mulder. Fast and hot. I won't need much to get ready, and I want you to RIDE me, you hear? I'm not a virgin, you don't have to worry about breaking me."

Fox was reaching behind himself to jerk off Hunt's shoes. Ethan twisted and managed to reach the night stand, driving the bulge of his fly up against Mulder's and making him moan. Ethan clawed out a condom and the tube of lubricant, dropping them on the mattress.

"Ethan, unhook your fucking legs so I can get your pant's off you!" Hunt laughed and pulled his knees up, letting Fox skin off his pants and underwear. Mulder almost fell off the bed removing his own pants, earning another snicker. "Oh, you're gonna PAY for that, Hunt!"

"I can only hope." Ethan grabbed Mulder's hand and coated his fingers with gel, then bent and spread his legs again, grabbing his knees. "Do me."

Mulder was as hard as a rock already. His hand shook a little as he smoothed the excess lubricant down Ethan's crease, then returned to circle around his ass hole. Ethan bit his lip as Fox circled the little pucker, then slowly pushed one finger in. Fox didn't hesitate, pushing in a second finger almost immediately and scissoring them. He was taking Hunt at his word, and Ethan was loving it.

Mulder pumped his hand, asking, "Want me to try to get your prostate?"

"Shit, I love ya, but that's a fucking dumb question, Mulder."

"Yeah?" Mulder pushed hard, crooking his fingers and rubbing across the little bump. Ethan spasmed, yelping with pleasure. "How dumb is that?"

"That's fucking GENIUS! Do it again!"

"Greedy."

"Fuck, yeah. I forgot how damn GOOD this was." Mulder stroked again, and again, massaging the gland till Ethan was jerking helplessly, whimpering. Unable to wait any longer, Mulder took his hand away to put on the condom. "Christ, Mulder!" Ethan wailed. "Hurry up!"

Mulder slipped on the rubber, moved up to Ethan, and slammed into him with one hard, long stroke. Ethan threw back his head, screaming in pleasure, and Fox almost came right then, but he managed to reach down and grab the base of his cock, pinching off any chance the sperm had to exit.

He just stayed there, sweating and holding himself while Ethan bucked against him. It was amazing. If he wanted to, all he'd have to do was just STAY there, Ethan would fuck HIMSELF on Mulder's embedded prick.

But Mulder wasn't about to do that, not now that he was the active partner. He finally grabbed Hunt's waist, pushing him back against the mattress. "Hunt, be still for a minute!"

Ethan bared his teeth, and hissed, "Then FUCK ME, damn it!"

Mulder had no problem with that. He began to drive into Hunt in a hard, fast rhythm. He wasn't trying to be gentle, though he hoped he might do this with a little tenderness some time in the future. Right now, this was what they both wanted: raw, primative sex.

Groaning in time to his lover's thrusts, Ethan reached down and stroked his own dripping cock with one hand. With the other he reached behind Mulder, feeling for his crack. "Get your hand away from my ass unless you're just gonna hang on, Hunt," Mulder growled. "Not this time. This time I top all the way."

"Yes SIR!" Ethan gasped, instead adding the second hand to the very pleasant task of jerking off while Mulder rammed into him.

Mulder came first, eyes squeezed shut as he unloaded into the condom, wishing he had met Ethan Hunt before the whole AIDs thing, when any thing you might pick up could be treated, and unprotected sex wasn't necessarily Russian roulette with more filled chambers than empty ones.

He pushed Ethan's hands away, and finished masturbating him, stroking him to completion and enjoying the added squeeze around his softening cock when Hunt's internal muscles milked him.

Finally they lay beside each other again, both sweaty and breathless. Ethan moaned, rubbing his face on Mulder's shoulder. "My ass aches, but in a GOOD way."

"Yeah, well, you asked for it, slut."

Hunt bit one of Mulder's still erect nipples. "You're so damn butch."

Fox didn't think he had enough strength or energy left to laugh, but somehow he managed.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 22

"You're sulking again, Danny."

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, I grant ya that someone who doesn't know ya might not be able to tell, since ya look sulky even when you're in the best of moods. But you can't shite me, Danny boy. I know you, inside and out. What is it?"

Daniel closed his suitcase and moved it to the floor. "Well, Connor, what is it USUALLY these days?"

"We've been over this a hundred times, Danny."

"And we'll be over it a hundred more. You know how I feel."

"And ya knew what I was when ya left Yarborough. I may not have told you straight out till after we got to Dublin, but ya knew."

"Yes, I knew. And it didn't matter. But Connor, DRUGS."

Danny sighed and sat on the edge of the bed in their hotel room, rubbing his face. Connor sat beside him, touching his shoulder. "Sweetheart, I don't put a gun to anyone's head and force them to take the shite, do I? I'm just a business man. I don't even make it, I just move it."

"Con, it's ILLEGAL. I wouldn't really mind it all that much if it wasn't for the whopping great prison term you could rack up if they catch you. And they don't have conjugal visits for same sex couples, to the best of my knowledge."

"Conservative repressed priggish bastards."

Daniel smiled faintly. "Yes, that DOES cover most politicians. But it doesn't change facts. And it's DANGEROUS, Con. People die, all the time. And other people get left alone." His voice was small.

Connor hugged him. One way he was like Ethan, he knew that physical contact was a good way to soothe his lover when he was upset. "Put that out of your head, Danny boy. It won't happen."

"You can't promise me that, Connor," he said bleakly. "This man we're going to see, Montana? He's killed people."

Connor chided him. "Danny, have you been listenin' to gossip again? You know it upsets you. I wish you wouldn't..."

"Sometimes gossip ISN'T an exaggeration, Con. It can't all be just rumors. People DISAPPEAR around him, all the time. And you're going to be just... just walking into the JAWS of that animal with your head up and your eyes open."

"Nothin' will happen, darlin', because HE'S a business man, too, and he needs what I can give him."

Danny turned toward him, gripping Connor's collar pleadingly. "Please, Con. Let's not go. You don't have to do this, you're doing fine with your legitimate concerns. In just a few months, we could have you totally legal; I've shown you how it could be done. You could be completely clean."

"And have our income reduced by more than half, Danny."

Danny pushed him violently, standing up. "FUCK the income! Connor Galbraith, after all this time, do you think THAT'S why I stay with you? I could be with someone who'd give me twice as much as you do, if I wanted. I could go back to peddling my ass and pull down a half million in cash and perks a year. That sheik we met at the party last month offered me a Rolls Royce, a fifteen room mansion in his country, a court position, and a fucking TITLE if I'd leave you."

Connor's green eyes narrowed dangerously. "He did, did he? He's damn lucky he's gone back to that sand trap he calls home."

"CON!" Daniel stamped his foot. "The point I'm trying to make is that I don't CARE about the money and the things. I used to, back when I was young and stupid, but meeting you showed me what's really important. You and me, that's all that matters, and I am so afraid that you're going to get yourself killed." He was almost crying.

"Darlin'." Connor stood up, going to take Daniel in his arms. Daniel tried to twist away from him, but Connor was persistent, and gentle. He soon had the taller man in a firm embrace, stroking his back and kissing his face, cheeks, forehead, eyes.

Daniel gradually stopped his half-hearted struggling, letting his head drop onto his lover's shoulders. "Please, Con. Please stop."

"I thought you liked my kisses, Danny," he teased. Daniel slapped at him weakly, and he relented. "Soon, m'love. Soon. Just a few more years, maybe no more than two, and I can retire."

Daniel heaved a hopeless sigh. "You could retire now. But you won't. And I used to think I was stubborn. I don't hold a candle to you, you hard-headed Mick."

"Watch that luscious mouth, you Maryland cracker," Connor joked.

"I should leave you," Daniel said sadly.

Connor froze. His voice was tense, almost frightened. "Danny. Danny, don't say that. Please, boyo. You know what that does to me."

Not picking his face up from where it nestled against Connor's throat, Daniel raised a hand and tenderly stroked his cheek. "I don't mean it, love. You know that. I could never leave you, Connor. You're my life."

Connor wilted a little in relief. There had only been one or two times in their relationship that Danny had threatened to leave him. That time he tried to push Danny into a threesome with a girl had been the worst. God, was THAT ever a mistake!

He hadn't even really WANTED the bitch. He'd just been curious as to what it would be like. Danny had been furious at the suggestion. Connor hadn't had enough sense to realize how serious he was, and had gone out for a drink with the twist anyway, to punish his lover.

He'd returned to find a taxi at his door and a white face Daniel with one suitcase packed, stuffing clothes into a second. Connor had chased off the cabbie with threats and curses. When Daniel tried to walk out anyway, he'd literally gone down on his knees and begged, without shame, to be given another chance.

He almost lost him. But when Daniel saw the tears on his face, he'd melted. They'd ended up sitting on the floor, holding each other, and talking all night. "I know it doesn't make sense, Con," Daniel had whispered, wrapped tight in his arms. "But somehow it's different. I can handle seeing you with another man, as long as I'm involved, too. But with a woman... I have nothing against them, though they're not to my taste, but it just feels like a betrayal. A rejection of everything I am. You KNEW how I felt, and you went anyway..."

Connor had stopped his words with a kiss. "Never again, Danny. Christ, love, you've taught me well. I can take anything but losing you."

He want to go, seeing how it upset Danny, but the meeting was already set up. Montana would not be pleased if Connor tried to blow him off at this late date. He explained this to Daniel. "So ya see, love, we HAVE to go this time. I'll try to make it the last, I swear. Once the deal is in place and runnin' smooth, I'll be able to sell the operation for a mint. Then I'll spend the rest of me life just worshipin' that delectable body of yours."

"You do that, anyway." Daniel said archly, but he smiled. He kissed Connor on the corner of the mouth. "We're fools for each other, you know that, don't you?"

"Aye, love. 'Tis a bright, mad thing, this love of ours, and I thank God for the madness."

"Oh," Daniel pushed him away playfully. "You were mad a long time before I met you." He picked up a tiny pair of red trunks and a robe from the bed. "Well, I want a swim before I turn in. If I'm good and relaxed, I can sleep on the flight over."

"You do that. Then come back here and I'll relax ya PROPER."

Daniel laughed. "Nasty man." He kissed his lover again. "Love you, Con."

"Love you, Danny."

Daniel walked downstairs, avoiding the elevator. He needed to be just that much more diligent in exercise these days, now that he was approaching thirty. He didn't intend to get pudgy, like some of the fabulously good looking 'companions' he'd known. Connor wouldn't leave him if he put on a pound or two, he knew that. In fact, his lover often tried to tease him into eating a little more 'so I'll have a bit to cuddle when the nights get cold.' But Connor deserved the best, and Daniel was determined to give it to him. That was the real reason he was going for this swim.

An attendant was just getting ready to lock the door to the pool when Daniel arrived. "Wait, please!"

"Sorry, sir. Ten o'clock."

"Oh, come on! Just a half hour?" The man frowned. Daniel pulled a five pound note out of his pocket and wiggled it enticing. "Twenty minutes?"

The note disappeared into the man's shirt. "G'wan, then. You can have the half hour, but no more."

"Thank you!" Danny hurried into the deserted locker room and quickly started stripping. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to get any benefit at all out of the exercise.

He was just laying his pants across the bench when the door opened, and Connor came in. He could feel the happiness bubbling up inside. He hadn't expected Connor to join him. Maybe he was remembering the few times they'd made love in a pool, and wanted to experience it again. "Con, I thought you were going to wait for me."

Connor came to him, cocking his head, with that roguish look Daniel loved so much. "Couldn't wait, darlin'. Ya know how I hate to be away from ya."

"Well, I hope you're not going to be this impatient ALL night," he teased.

"Oh, no, love. You know me." Connor caressed his cheek, and Daniel leaned into the familiar touch, eyes half shutting. "I can be just as patient as ya want, as long as ya want."

Smiling, Daniel took Connor's face in his hands, and kissed him deeply. But as his tongue sought out the sweet depths he knew so well, a cool prickle washed over him. Something wasn't right. He... tasted wrong.

Daniel pulled back, looking at him sharply. Same green eyes, same crooked smile, same impossibly handsome, dear face, but still...

"What's wrong, darlin'?"

There was something missing. There was no love in the depths of those green eyes. "You... you're not..."

"Sorry, Danny." The beautiful Irish lilt was gone, and the eyes were hard. Danny knew Connor was capable of such a look, but it had never been directed at him. At the moment he realized that the man he had just kissed was NOT his lover, he felt a sting on his buttock. He stumbled back, rubbing at it, staring at the man in astonishment.

"I'm sorry about this, Danny." Ethan recapped the tiny syringe and returned it to his pocket. "Don't worry, you won't be harmed. You're just going on a little retreat for a week or two, and Connor will be there to keep you company."

"No..." Daniel whispered. "Not Con! You leave him alone!" He suddenly felt dizzy. He would have fallen, but the stranger wearing Con's face caught him and eased him down onto the bench. Daniel clutched at his arm with all his waning strength. "Please, I'll do anything you say. I don't know what you want, but don't hurt Con!"

"Relax, Danny."

The other man slumped on the bench, eyes beginning to flutter closed. He looked so much like Fox that it tore at Ethan's heart to see him so helpless and vulnerable. He reminded himself that this was the paid whore of a drug dealer, but somehow the familiar epithet didn't ring true. Not after he'd witnessed how Daniel thought first of his lover, even when it seemed that his own life was in danger.

Ethan couldn't resist stroking the fine brown hair back from his forehead. Then he shook his head, and called. "Come!"

Fox and the attendant entered immediately. Mulder came to stare down at the man on the bench. "It's uncanny. I feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience."

"We can't waste time. Get into his clothes."

While Fox started to strip, the 'hotel worker' rolled a large laundry cart close to the bench. Together he and Ethan lifted Daniel's unconscious body into the cart, and arranged linens over him. Ethan made particularly sure that he had breathing space.

"Is he going to be all right?"

Ethan looked at his lover. Fox had been listening to the exchange outside the door, and he knew how Daniel had reacted. "He should be. We were very careful about checking his records for possible bad reactions, and his weight for the right dosage. He should just sleep deeply, and wake up in about eight hours. He might have a little headache, but that should be all."

"I just don't want him hurt."

"Neither do we, Mulder." Mulder was finishing buttoning up Daniel's shirt. Now he toed off his own loafers and slipped into Daniel's lace-ups, tying them. When he stood up, he shivered violently. "What is it?" Ethan asked, concerned.

Fox's hazel eyes were a little haunted when he turned them on Ethan. "I just realized. If I died right now, they'd identify me as Daniel Ballard. Same looks, same scars, same fingerprints, all his papers. I... I'm not myself anymore."

Ethan grabbed him and kissed him, hard. "You're Fox Mulder, a damn good FBI agent, going undercover. Don't forget that, Mulder. Don't lose yourself so far in the role that you can't come back to me when it's over. Now go on." He pushed Fox toward the door.

Fox stood for a moment, head down, thinking. *He said 'come back to me when it's over.' Oh, God. What if he means it?* Fox lifted his head. When he left the locker room, he was moving with the languid grace that characterized almost everything Daniel Ballard did.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 23

Outside Daniel's hotel room, Fox paused and checked his pocket. The tiny disposable syringe of drugs was there. A hotel key wasn't. *Fuck! He came out without his key?* Fox had been hoping to slip in quietly, and possibly give Connor the jab before he was fully aware that he was there. No chance of that now.

He was about to knock on the door when Ethan sprinted around the corner, waving at him frantically. Wordlessly, he pushed Daniel's robe and trunks into Fox's arms. Fox winced, looking at Ethan in anxious apology. Ethan shook his head, indicating that HE had almost forgotten them, too. He gave Mulder's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and dashed back around the corner. Fox knew that the 'attendant' would be there, near the service elevator, with the cart containing a peacefully sleeping Daniel Ballard.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. There was a shuffling inside, and an Irish accented voice called out, "Who is it, at this bloody time of night?"

Fox modulated his voice, drawling softly, "It's just me, Con. Open up."

"Danny?" Fox heard the lock disengage, and the door opened. Ethan's twin stood there, smiling at him quizzically.

It took Mulder's breath away. *My God, they're so alike.*

Connar stood aside. "Well, don't stand out in the hall like a bleedin' rent boy waitin' for his johnny, love. Come in." Mulder went into the room. Down the hall, Ethan Hunt clenched his hands into fists as he heard the door close.

Fox moved casually, tossing the garments he carried on the bed. "I forgot my key."

"You'd forget your head if God hadn't screwed it on tight, love." Connor said good naturedly. He came over and reached down, fingering the dry trunks. "Didn't have your swim, then?"

"They were already closed."

"What a shame. Now I'll have to work ever so hard to get you relaxed, won't I?"

Fox was startled when Connor Galbraith grabbed his wrists and threw himself against him, knocking him back onto the bed. He moved Fox's wrists up over his head, pinning them there, lying on top of him.

Fox felt a very firm erection pressing against his thigh as Connor Galbraith's mouth descended on his. Connor shifted, bringing his crotch against Mulder's, and began to hump against him in a lazy grind. Fox started to get hard, despite his stress.

Connor felt the tension in Mulder's body, but attributed it to Daniel's earlier upset. "Oh, love, don't be like that," he crooned. He released Mulder's wrists, stroking down his arms. "I'm sorry about this trip, truly I am. We won't stay any longer than we must, and I'll take you somewhere nice after." His hands were between them, unfastening Mulder's... Daniel's belt. "What about Italy, eh? Haven't been there for awhile. You can shop yourself silly in Milan, and stuff youself on those Italian ices you like so much."

Fox knew he had to respond. Daniel would. If he remained silent, Connor might not expect a substitution, not right off. But he'd know something was wrong, and that would make him examine 'Daniel' more closely. Fox half closed his eyes, making his voice husky. "Would you eat some of them off me?" Connor laughed. *Oh, God, he sounds like Ethan.*

"You know I would, boyo." He had Fox's pants open now, and his hand moved into the gap, finding the slit in his boxers. He fondly stroked the hardening flesh he found there. Fox bit his lip. "Oh, you want to make some noise, don't you, Danny?" He squeezed gently, and Mulder moaned. "That's right, my lover. It's so sweet when you sing for me, Danny. You drive me crazy when you do that."

His hand moved steadily, stroking Mulder's awakening cock. It felt fantastic, but Fox knew he had to get to the syringe. It was in his pocket, and that meant that he had to get Connor away from that vicinity, and distracted.

Fox took Connor's face between his hands and kissed him. The Irishman's lips parted invitingly, and Fox didn't hesitate to go exploring. *I don't know what Danny meant. Connor tastes pretty much the same as Ethan to me. But then, Danny's known Connor longer than I have Ethan.*

He pulled back, flicking his tongue once more over Connor's lips, and murmured, "I want to suck you tonight." Connor drew in a ragged breath. Fox lowered his lashes, then looked up at the man who loomed over him through them. "Please, Daddy."

Connor groaned, and moved off him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Again he pumped Mulder's erection, then let his hand slide caressingly down the other man's inner thigh. "Yes, Danny boy. Daddy would like that very much."

*Role playing within role playing.* Fox sat up, winding his arms around Connor's neck for another kiss. He let his right hand drop into Connor's lap, fondling the bulge of his hard-on. "Oooh, Daddy," he breathed. "Is that all for me?"

"Yes, Danny."

"Is it because I've been good?" He licked Connor's throat.

"Such a good boy." Connor pushed gently on his head, urging him down.

Fox slithered down and around, dragging his hands over Connor's taut body as he went to his knees in front of the Irishman. He kneaded Connor's fly for a moment, then slowly pulled the zipper down and unfastend the button and belt. He reached inside and pulled out Connor's stiff cock. *Maybe not exactly the same. I think Ethan is a little thicker, and he doesn't flush quite that deep.*

Fox tipped his head, and leaned forward. Connor gasped as Mulder's soft hair caressed his turgid prick. Then Fox/Daniel lifted his head, letting the hot length slide along his cheek while he pushed the trousers farther down Connor's hips.

"Please, Danny," Connor moaned. "I need you, boyo."

Mulder lapped delicately at the clear drop of pre-cum that quivered on the very tip of Connor's penis. At the same time, his hand slipped into his pocket, and he found the little syringe. With his left hand, he held Connor's shaft, as he ran his tongue carefully along the ridge that ran up it's underside. He flicked the cap off the needle with one finger, holding it cautiously so that he was not stuck.

Connor was whipsering hoarsly. "Take me, lover. Oh, God, Danny. I love you so."

Feeling a twinge of guilt at the raw tenderness in the other man's voice, Mulder fitted his lips around the swollen, slick cock head. As he began to swallow Connor's prick, he brought his hand up, as if to grip his hips for more leverage. At the very moment he pricked Connor, pushing the plunger, he sucked very hard, and flicked his tongue.

Connor jerked, and gasped with laughter. "Jesus! Danny, boy, ya have a hang nail, I think." He grabbed Fox's wrist playfully, before Fox could pull it away. "What? What the hell is this?"

His voice was puzzled as he plucked the disposable syringe from Mulder's hand. Mulder sat back, letting Connor's dick slide free as Connor looked at the little device.

His face darkened in confusion as he looked from the needle to Mulder. "Drugs? Danny, I don't believe it. Not you. You wouldn't..."

"I'm sorry, Galbraith," he said hoarsly.

Connor's eyes went wide, sudden understanding flooding him. Before Fox could move, Galbraith lashed out. A fist caught Fox only a glancing blow as he tried to pull back, but it knocked him sprawling. Before he could get up, Connor was on him, kneeling on his arms. He grabbed a handful of Mulder's hair and screamed, "WHERE IS HE? WHERE'S MY DANNY?"

The door burst open, and Ethan rushed in. Connor's head whipped around, and when he saw what looked like his doppleganger, his arm dropped in astonishment. But only for an instant. Then he dived for the bed, his hand reaching under the pillow.

Both agents knew what was happening. Ethan landed on him first, grabbing his arm just as he pulled the nasty looking automatic out from under the pillow. They struggled in grim silence for the weapon. Fox, careful to stay out of the possible line of fire, grabbed at Connor's arm, too, adding his strength to Ethan's. They knew that all they had to do was hold him for a few more moments.

The drugs moved swiftly through Connor's body. He felt them, and started cursing. His tone moved from venemous to desperate. "What are ya doin'? What do ya want? I've got cash and credit cards in me wallet, they're yours."

The others were silent. Connor gasped. "Oh, God. It's Montana, somethin' to do with that shite. What have ya done with Danny?"

Ethan glanced at Fox. "He's safe. We didn't hurt him. We won't hurt either of you."

"He's innocent, you bastards! All he does is love me. Let him go. I'll do whatever the fuck you want, but let my Danny go." Connor's voice was getting fainter, his struggles weaker. "Please..." Finally he went limp, eyes closing.

The laundry cart was rolled into the room. Connor was carefully depostied next to his lover, and both of them were covered. The the cart was rolled away.

Ethan shut the door, and looked at Fox. "From now on, you put them out of your mind. They'll be all right."

Fox sat on the bed, rubbing his face. "All they were worried about was each other. They must've thought they were going to die, and all they cared about was would their lover be safe." Ethan sat on the bed beside Mulder, putting an arm around his shoulders. Mulder leaned his head on Ethan, muttering, "I hate this part of it."

"I know. But it had to be done. And you did well." Mulder shivered as Ethan caressed his still half hard cock. "You did what you had to do. A lot of people come into this line of work thinking it's going to be like in the movies, or on television. When it gets to the nitty gritty, they think there's going to be a fade out, and they'll slip past having to really give anything up. You realized that wasn't how this works, Mulder. You got the job done. They can't have any doubts about you now."

"You didn't doubt me."

"No, I didn't." Ethan kissed him. "I KNOW how good you are." His hand moved slowly. "In every way."

Fox swallowed. It was time to move fully into the character he would be living for the next week or so. If he didn't... if he couldn't... It might mean his life, or Ethan's. He turned to Ethan, putting his arms around the younger man, kissing him hard. When he pulled back, he said quietly, "Am I your boy?"

Ethan leaned his forehead against Mulder's. He knew this was hard for him, and he appreciated it. He silently vowed that he would make it up to him when this was all over. But now... "You're my good boy, Danny."

He pushed Mulder back on the bed gently. "Tonight, let Daddy take care of you." Mulder sighed as Ethan lowered his head to his crotch and took his dick into his mouth.

It lasted a long time, Ethan made sure of that. He brought Mulder to the edge of climax again and again. Each time he would pause, holding the throbbing erection tightly around the base, preventing the flow of sperm that would have brought relief. He intended to have Mulder thoroughly exhausted by the time he was done, so that the other man would sleep.

Near the end, when Mulder was whimpering for release, Ethan finally opened his own pants and reached inside to fondle his own rock hard erection. He returned to his task, now giving unrestrained fellatio while he pumped himself. In moments Mulder was thrusting deep into his throat, gasping with each lunge. There was a desperation about him that Ethan hadn't experienced before, and he thought he knew what had caused it.

If they hadn't taken Connor and Danny, the other two men would probably have been making love at this moment. Fox felt as if they were stealing a little of the other men's lives, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

Ethan released Mulder from his oral embrace, climbing up his body to lie over him. Reaching between them, he took both rigid cocks in his hands, holding them tightly together, and thrust. Fox cried out, grabbing at his shoulders, hips pushing up to meet him. When Ethan felt the hot stream of Mulder's spunk flow down over his hands, it brought him to his own climax. Their seed mingled, coating his fingers with warmth.

When they were done, Ethan got a cloth from the bathroom and cleaned them both, then helped Fox strip, and removed the rest of his clothes. They crawled into bed and held each other.

Mulder drifted off to sleep quickly, but Ethan remained awake for a time, stroking his lover's hair, staring at the ceiling. *God almight, Fox. I think I've done something really stupid. I think I may have fallen in love with you, and now I'm going to run you in front of a thug who's probably a madman as well. Why the hell did I ever get into this profession?* He thought a while longer, then sighed. *Oh, well.* He gently kissed the sleeping man, feeling rather than hearing his unconscious, questioning murmur. *If I HADN'T, then I wouldn't have met YOU, would I, Mulder?*

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 24

Danny woke up groggy. *God, did we go to a club last night? I haven't gotten drunk enough to warrant a hangover in ages. And I've NEVER actually blacked out. Well, except that one time Andrew thought it would be cute to make me get drunk, and I almost ended up with alcohol poisoning. It was worth the beating to throw up in his lap.*

He was feeling very uneasy about something. There was almost a sense of dread. *Con. Something about Con.* Daniel flailed out. He felt a wash of relief when his hand settled on the warm, bare skin of his lover. Eyes still closed, he moved over against Connor, throwing his arm across him and nuzzling his neck. The dear, familiar scent of his skin filled Danny's nostrils, and he almost drifted off to sleep.

*But something was wrong last night. Something was wrong with Connor, wasn't it? What was it? Was he sick? He's so stubborn when he gets ill.* Danny pressed even closer, absently licking Connor's throat in an affectionate caress... And his eyes popped open. *He didn't taste right.*

It all flooded back. The near argument, going for his swim, bribing the attendant, Connor coming in. But it wasn't Connor. He had tasted wrong, and suddenly the Irish lilt was gone from his voice, and those green eyes held a kind of apology, but no love.

Daniel pulled back a little, fearfully studying the man lying beside him. He could have sketched those beloved features in his sleep, but that other man had been so like his love.

As he stared, Connor opened his eyes, and winced. "Oo, me head." He saw Daniel, and stiffened, glaring at him.

Oh, God, the look in those eyes! It was as if he wanted to murder him. Hurt, Daniel said softly, "Con!"

Connor's face went slack for a moment, eyes doubtful. Then joy and relief flooded his face. He pulled Daniel into a fierce embrace, pressing his head down to his chest. "Danny boy! Oh, God, sweetheart! I thought I'd lost ya."

Daniel wilted against him. "I'm here, Con. I'm all right. But what about you? He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"That bastard tarted up to look like you? No, lad. A wee stick in me butt is all, and I suppose I can thank them for this headache."

Daniel pulled back a little to look Connor in the face. "Like me?"

Connor looked contrite. "I know, sweet. I should have known sooner, but... I was a bit distracted. He DID look a lot like you, after all. He had the needle in me before I realized, and then I knew it couldn't be you."

"But Connor, the one I saw looked just like you."

"The fuck you say!" Connor sat up, round eyed with astonishment. "I'll be damned. I remember now. I had that devil with your face down on the ground, ready to pound him ugly, and someone who DID look like me came in."

Daniel was trembling. "Connor, what's going on?" He looked around. "This isn't our room." It wasn't bad, but it was by no means the luxury hotel room they had checked into.

"Fuck me if I know, Danny. I thought it was something to do with Montana, but why would he kidnap us when we were on our way to meet him?"

Connor got out of bed, moving gingerly. Once he got upright, the dizziness faded, and he was steady enough on his feet. "Mm. Well, I see they don't intend for us to go far." Both men were in their underwear, and there was no sign of any other clothing in the room.

There were two doors. One led to a tiny bathroom, complete with sink, toilet, and shower. Connor tried the other. "Locked. No great surprise there, eh?" He ran his hand around the frame. "Hinges on the other side. Dammit. That means we can't hope to take it down, and we can't hide behind it since it will open out. Fuck!"

Daniel sat, watching Connor prowl the room. He noticed that it wasn't actually a bed they'd woke up on, it was a futon. The only other furniture was a box cabinet with a television set sitting on it, facing the bed. The set was chained to the wall. At last, Connor dropped back down beside him. "Fuck. There isn't even anything I might be able to break up to use for weapons. Somebody has put some thought into this, Danny boy."

"I'm scared, Con." He was looking down at his hands, and his voice was a little shaky.

"Oh, love." Connor wrapped his arms around the taller man, holding him tightly as he began to shiver. "It's going to be all right. I won't let anything happen to you, you know that."

"I know you'll try. But Con, this... this is something pretty big, I think. The really big guys have left you alone so far. I'm afraid they may have decided to notice us."

"I've been in tough spots before, love. I got out then, I'll get out now." *Only all I had to worry about then was meself. You're my hostage to fortune, Danny.*

"Con," Danny had his head on his lover's shoulder. "I need to ask your permission to do something."

"What, darlin'?"

"I need you to tell me it's all right for me to do whatever it takes to try to persuade them to let us go."

Connor Galbraith closed his eyes in anguish. His lover was asking his permission to once again whore himself in an attempt to save both their lives. "No, Danny. I took you away from that sort of thing. You won't do it again."

"But it MIGHT work, Con. I'm good, you know that."

He kissed Daniel's hair. "No one knows that like I do, Danny. But they won't touch you, do you hear me? I only give you permission if it's to save yourself, to keep them from hurting YOU. I DO NOT give you permission to do it on my account."

Daniel was quiet, then said, in a low voice, "I'll do it anyway."

Connor grabbed his chin and forced Daniel to look into his face. His eyes blazed, and his voice was hard. "I forbid it, Danny! D'ya hear me? I'm not worth it, love. I'm not worth that kind of sacrifice."

"But I love you, Con."

"Then you'll do as I say. How can I explain this to you, Danny? Nothing you could do would ever make me love you less, that's not why I'm sayin' no. But I couldn't live with the thought that you'd been through something like that to save my worthless hide. So you'll say no more of it. Besides..." He snorted. "They're probably straight. If they'll go so far as to drug us and kidnap us, I hardly think they would have resisted raping one or both of us while we were out of it. And my ass isn't sore. How about you, love?" He pinched Daniel's buttock, and, for a miracle, got a weak laugh.

"No. I seem to be as pristine as when I went down to the pool."

"Then I'll let them live."

"My hero." Daniel kissed Connor, his mouth soft against the Irishman's lips. And, despite their situation, despite the uncertain future and the almost certain danger, Connor started to get hard.

He wasn't prepared when the door opened, but he reacted quickly. He was on his feet in a split second, pushing Daniel behind him. He didn't attack: he knew better than to do anything violent when he was in such a vulnerable position without being absolutely certain of the situation.

Two men came in. One was the attendant from the hotel pool. The other was a dapper, older man, with an intelligent, cultured face. He nodded at them and said, in a British accented voice, "Please, Mr. Galbraith, have a seat."

Connor scowled. "Might have known the bleedin' Brits would be in on it." He sat beside Danny again, defiantly pulling the other man into a one armed embrace.

The Englishman didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Thank you for your co-operation. I hope it will continue. I expect you're feeling very confused."

"That's quite an understatement," Daniel said archly. His expression was calm, but Connor could feel the faint tremor in his body.

"Yes, I suppose so. I want to assure you that neither of you are in any danger. You will be treated as gently as you will allow us, and with as much dignity as we can manage. I apologize about the state of undress, but it DID seem more sensible, till you adjusted to your situation."

"Adjusted? Exactly how bleedin' long do ya intend to keep us in this box?" Connor demanded.

"That I cannot say. It depends on many things. There are certain things that must be accomplished, and there is no fixed timetable. You will be held here, as comfortably as possible, until our operatives return safely."

Daniel said, "You say safely. That means there's danger involved. Judging from what y'all have gone through already, I'd say a good bit of it. What happens to us if they DON'T return, safely or otherwise?"

"We do not like to think about that possibility, Mr. Ballard. But in that case, you still will not be harmed. I'm not sure if I can guarantee you a quick release, though. It's not entirely up to me. There are many people involved in this enterprise, and the welfare of all must be considered."

"What's this all about, anyway?" Connor demanded. "What's it got to do with us? Specifically, what's it got to do with Danny? Why the hell are you messing about with HIM?"

"Mr. Ballard is a tad peripheral in some aspects, but vital in others. He is a part of your life, Mr. Galbraith. If you are held incommunicado, HE cannot be left at liberty."

"Oh, shit," groaned Connor. "I knew it. All my fault." Daniel squeezed him silently. "Who are you people? CIA? Interpol? FBI? Fucking KGB? Who?"

"None of those, though there are elements from all. There will be time to discuss this later, Mr. Galbraith. We have been observing you for some time now, and certain members of our organization have come to the conclusion that you and," he nodded graciously toward Daniel, "your friend, Mr. Ballard, have skills that would benefit us greatly. And in benefitting us, you would benefit a great many others, perhaps too numerous to count. But for right now, Mr. Galbraith, Mr. Ballard, you needn't worry." He smiled. "We're the good guys."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Charming. Connor, hon, we're in deep shit, because even the most liberal people in the world are hardly likely to believe WE'RE anything but bad guys."

"Not necessarily, Mr. Ballard. Not necessarily. You have to remember, necessity makes strange bedfellows."

"Well," Connor bit his lip thoughtfully. "Danny, we may have to listen to the man. After all," he ruffled his lover's hair playfully. "You and me, we've had our share of strange bedfellows, haven't we now?"

"If you're thinking about that contortionist in Vienna, I suppose so."

"I know you two have just wakened, but I'd advise you to sleep again, if you can. You have satellite television, and we can get you reading material for your amusement. When you wake up, we can get you some food. Any specific requests for food will be met as well as possible, though I will warn you that we are not a short order kitchen. Alcohol can be provided in >modest amounts, but no drugs."

"We don't DO drugs." Connor said indignantly.

"No, you only distribute them," There was no condemnation in the cool voice, but Connor felt his hackles rise. Why? It was perfectly true. He was a drug runner. "Is there anything you need right now?"

"Something for me head. It aches fierce. I expect it's the same for Danny." Daniel nodded. Connor looked his captor in the face. "And some personal lubricant."

"Con!" Danny hid his face against his lover's shoulder.

"Well, it's not like they don't know, love. Not from the way that one wearing your face acted." He glared at the other man. "You haven't got this box bugged or on candid camera, have ya?"

"No, we do not."

"Just as well. We wouldn't say shit you could use. And if ya wanted to watch us make love," He leaned over and nibbled Daniel's earlobe, drawing a longing whimper. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it, love?"

"Will you require condoms?"

*Oh, he's a cool character.* "No. Under the circumstances, I want to be as close to my lover as I can be."

"Very well. Headache remedy, and..." The ghost of a smile. "Personal lubricant." Without another word he turned, and left the room with his burly companion. Daniel and Connor heard several locks engage.

When they were gone, Daniel slapped Connor on the chest. "You are BAD."

"But ya love me."

"Yes, I do. What does that say about me?"

"It says you're the kindest, most generous-hearted person I've ever been blessed with meetin', Danny boy. And I'll love you every chance I get. I'm startin' to think that they may not be bull shittin' us. They may not intend us bodily harm, just want to keep us out of circulation for awhile. In that case, I'm damn sure not goin' to give up loving you while we're locked up here." He nipped Daniel's shoulder. "It'll give us somethin' to pass the time, won't it?"

They sat close together while they waited for the man to return, murmuring to each other, saying things that lovers say. Daniel put his lips to Connor's ear and whispered to him, detailing all the things they loved to do together, making a list of amusements for the time of captivity. By the time their captor returned with the supplies, Connor was achingly hard, a damp patch showing on his boxers over the bulge of his erection.

The man who had attended the pool at the hotel silently offered four aspirin and a paper cup of water. Connor took them all. He popped two pills in Daniel's mouth, then held the cup for him to sip. Then Daniel repeated the action for Connor, giving him his medicine. Then, obviously fighting down a smile, the man offered Connor a tube of lubricant. "We got you the large size, so you won't need another right away."

Connor took it, straight-faced. "Thanks. We'll need it." He had his arm around Daniel again, and turned to lick his ear, causing him to shiver and almost laugh out loud. Shaking his head, and smiling now, the attendant left the room, locking the door again.

When he was gone, Daniel pulled off his jockey shorts, showing that he was half-hard himself. "Give it to me, Con. I'll get myself ready. I'll put on a nice show for you." Connor turned the tube over in his hands, looking at it. When he looked at Daniel again, Danny became still and quiet. For almost a minute they just looked at each other. At last he said tentatively, "Con? If you'd rather I sucked you..."

Connor reached out and caressed Daniel's cheek gently. "Danny boy, if I asked you nicely, would you fuck me?"

Daniel drew in a sharp, startled breath. "But Connor, you never..."

"Yeah, I never. I love you so much, Danny, and I've never had you inside me. I want that tonight, my lover." He kissed Daniel gently, nibbling at his full lower lip. "All these times over the years, Danny, you've given, and you've given, and I've loved it."

"I loved it, too."

"Then you won't deny me that, will you, boyo? You won't deny me the feel of the man I love filling me up." Connor reached out and gripped the thickness of Daniel's arousal, stroking slowly. "I know you haven't done it often, Danny, but you HAVE done it. And it won't be the first time I've bottomed, though it's been so long that it might as well be. Please, love."

Daniel was swaying, losing himself already in his lover's knowing, familiar touch. Connor could make him do almost anything. And, though he was by nature a submissive, the idea of taking Connor was incredibly erotic. For such a forceful man to want to surrender... It was intoxicating. "Yes, Con. Oh, I'd LIKE that."

Connor pressed the tube into Daniel's hand, then pulled off his boxers. "I wish we had a proper bed. I'd like to stand beside it and bend over, brace on the mattress. But I suppose the traditional position will have to do." He got back down on the futon and positioned himself on his hands and knees, spreading his legs wide.

Daniel just stood there for a moment, mesmerized by the beautiful sight. His knees were starting to feel weak, so it was easy enough to kneel behind Connor. He opened the tube, and squirted a large squiggle of gel onto his fingers. Spreading Connor's cheeks, he wiped it the length of the crack.

Connor jumped, "Jesus, Danny! Is it always that cold? Why haven't ya said somethin' to me, lad?"

"No, Connor, it isn't always that cold. You usually remember to warm it first. I'm a silly, overexcited ass." Daniel massaged, working warmth into Connor's flesh. "Is that better?"

"Heavenly." he sighed. "Come on, boy. I'm eager for your cock."

Said cock gave a twitch, hearing its name mentioned. Working slowly and carefully, mindful of Connor's long abstinence of this type of sex, Daniel worked first one, then two fingers into his tight channel. Connor grunted softly as Danny started to move them, gradually pulling them apart to stretch the tight, muscular ring. "Am I hurting?" Daniel said anxiously.

"Ah, no, Danny! Christ, that feels so good! I had forgotten how wonderful it could be. But I am sort of a virgin at this. I never had someone I love do it to me. Give me another one, angel."

Daniel bunched three fingers and worked them into Connor's rectum, ever mindful to keep his fingers angled so the nails wouldn't be a danger. He listened to the rumbling purr that seemed to throb through Connor, beginning to smile. Well, he knew how much HE enjoyed it when Connor did this for him. He wanted Connor to experience the same pleasure. "I think you're ready, Con."

"I'm PAST ready, Danny. Fuck me now, or I'll be done and limp as a rag when you come inside me, and I don't want that."

"Just a second. I want to give you a little more slickem' up." Connor felt the short nozzle of the tube nudge his loosened hole. "I've been holding this between my thighs. It should be warmed up." Indeed, the thick ointment that oozed into Connor's anus was body temperature. It made him even harder, thinking that it was from Danny's body heat.

Then the tube was gone, and he felt Daniel moving up closer behind him. Daniel's hands were on his hips, and then Daniel was sliding into him: hot and thick, stretching open a passage that had not been used in that manner for a number of years. It ached, despite the careful preparation, but Connor bit off a moan, not wanting Daniel to know. He'd worry, and he might stop, and Connor didn't WANT him to stop.

Finally Daniel was all the way inside him, and he paused, giving his lover a minute to adjust. He rubbed Connor's back in small circles. "All right?"

"Yes. So good, Danny."

"I'm glad. And you..." Connor yelped as his lover gave him a playful slap on the butt. "You are as tight as any virgin I'VE ever heard of."

"Good." Connor didn't have as much skill at this as Daniel did, but he was willing, and determined to please his lover. He concentrated, and bore down, trying to squeeze as Daniel did for him sometimes.

He must have succeeded, because Daniel made one of his lovely sounds, a little whine this time, and it made Connor smile to himself. "I can still make you sing, Danny. Even like this."

"God, you vain, vain man. I love you." Daniel started to fuck, moving in Connor with slow, gentle strokes. *This is so different, but he feels so wonderful. What made you decide to give me this gift, Con?* But he knew, really. They had both each thought that they had lost the other. It was a devastating thing. Connor was so joyful at his return that he wanted to do something that would bind them >even more closely. And Daniel... Daniel just wanted Connor, any way he could have him, any time.

Connor absorbed each thrust, relishing the feel of Danny filling him, pulling back, and filling him again. His hands worked in the sheets as Daniel's cock head glided over his prostate, again and again. He'd had Danny massage him internally with his fingers, that had been a regular part of their sex play, but it wasn't the same.

Connor sensed the tension in Danny, the tighter grip on his hips telling him that his lover was restraining himself, wanting to go harder. He glanced back over his shoulder, meeting a gaze that had gone dark with arousal, seeing that beautiful, flushed face from a different angle. "Give it to me, Danny! Don't hold back. I want all of you. You're a fine, strong man, my lover, and I want to FEEL you."

With a small cry, Daniel speeded up, throwing himself against Connor. Connor braced his legs and arms even wider, taking the jar of each now unrestrained thrust. Daniel took Connor at his word, pounding into his ass with all his speed and strength. It was an impressive performance, especially for a man who had spent most of his life as a 'passive' partner.

Connor's voice rose to mingle with Danny's as their coupling moved to its climax. Daniel lunged against him, driving himself to the very limit, and came, moaning Connor's name. Connor felt, for the first time, the hot pulse of Danny's sperm filling his body cavity. As he felt the first liquid gush, Danny snaked a hand under him and gripped his throbbing prick, bringing him to completion with a half dozen quick, expert strokes.

When they were done, as always after they made love, they held each other. Once again it was Daniel who snuggled in Connor's arms. He drifted off to sleep, and his face was peaceful. He had decided to trust Connor. If his lover said that he believed they would not be harmed, then they would not be harmed. As for Connor...

He held his love, feeling the warm trickle of Danny's sperm leaking from his still loosened, gently throbbing rectum. *I'm going to have to remember how >good this can be. My sweet Danny.* He hugged his lover, getting a sleepy, nonsensical murmur in return. *Love, there's some who might think you not much a man for giving yourself up to me the way you do. But damn, haven't I just had proof of how wrong they are?*

He thought, more briefly, of what it might be that the ones who were holding them wanted, in the long run. Well, Daniel had TOLD him it was time to get out of the business. Maybe retirement had just come early.

In the next room, Ethan and Fox's control decided that his two guests must have gone to sleep for the night. *Cameras and bugs, Mr. Galbraith? Hardly necessary >with the ruckus you two raise when you're having a good time. And what was that I heard? I got the distinct impression from some of the things you were calling out that friend Daniel rode YOU tonight. That isn't what our information indicated about your relationship."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I begin to believe that there's more to you two than we had thought."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 25

The next morning, Mulder got up and showered, using Daniel's all-over body shampoo, shaved using Daniel's expensive shaving cream, and got into Daniel's clothes. He stood before the mirror, buttoning up the forest green silk shirt. His own wardrobe, the one Ethan had bought for him, was stowed in the suitcases, interspersed with Daniel's clothes.

When he was done, he just stared at himself in the mirror, and murmured, "Who the fuck ARE you?" *If I drop dead of a heart attack right now, there are only about a half-dozen people in the world who will know that I am not Daniel Ballard. Two of them are Ballard and his lover.* Ethan, head to toe in cool black, came up behind him. He watched Mulder watching himself, then said, "What are ya thinkin', boyo?"

"I'm thinking that I'm an insurance scam waiting to happen. You sure a certain Irishman didn't take out a multi-million dollar policy on a certain Maryland ex-preppie, planning to fake something nasty and abscond?"

"Not the last I heard." He took Mulder's elbow. "C'mon, boyo. Time to check out."

Mulder sighed, and slipped on a pair of dark glasses. "Oh, all right, Con. I just wish we could have taken a later flight. You KNOW how jet lagged I get."

*This is going to work.* "I know, love. You'll have a nice nap on the plane before we land."

Downstairs, Ethan presented Connor Galbraith's credit card, and signed the receipt. The desk clerk mentioned what a pleasure it always was having them, and his eyes were bright and completely free of suspicion. He grinned appreciatively at the twenty the handsome Irishman slipped him, along with a wink. His tall companion, smacked the other guest lightly on the shoulder, and the clerk chuckled. That Mr. Ballard was nice enough, but he was a jealous one.

At the airport, they presented the tickets that had been on the hotel dresser, and were shown to first class. The stewardess was not quite smothering in her attentions, but spent more time than was necessary pointing out the various comfort features, explaining the champagne brunch that was available later on, and offering magazines, drinks, headphones... everything but her telephone number, and they might have had THAT if the other attendant hadn't bustled over and scolded her into getting to the other travelers. The flight was uneventful. Both men took advantage of the champagne brunch. Mulder had flown often during his tenure with the FBI, but the coach accommodations he was used to were nothing like first class. Sipping the brut champagne, he reflected that it would be very easy to get used to this.

He took a nap later in the flight, so he was refreshed when they landed at Bogota in the afternoon. In the airport, he presented Daniel Ballard's passport, and it was stamped without a second glance. *That's it. I've just committed fraud.*

There were several men standing off to one side, holding cardboard placards with names written on them. One of them, a slender, handsome Latino in his very early twenties was holding one that said 'GALBRAITH'. He wasn't in much doubt as to who he was looking for, though. He was staring frankly at Fox and Ethan. *Or rather, Connor and Daniel."

Connor was lifting their cases off the carousel, and Fox poked him gently. "Con, hon. I think someone wants us."

"I wouldn't be the least bit surprised, sweetheart. We're hot." Fox poked him again, then pointed. Connor turned his attention to the waiting man, and gave him an encouraging nod.

The man came forward, his manner deferential. "Senor Galbraith and Ballard?"

"That's us, laddie. But you're not Montana."

"Oh, no, senor! The padrone could not come himself, so he has sent me to greet you. I am Manuel."

"Of course you are," Mulder drawled. He turned to Ethan and said stiffly. "See? Doesn't even have enough courtesy to meet us himself."

"Danny, hush! Mr. Montana is a busy man. Things come up." Fox grunted pettishly. *Damn. I do believe he has Daniel DOWN>*

"Gentlemen, we have a suite reserved for you at our finest hotel." Manuel gestured for a porter, who began loading the cases on a cart. "It will be my pleasure to take you there, and Senor Montana will meet with you tomorrow. You will have time to rest and refresh yourselves."

Manuel's POV

The Irishman smiles at me. His smile is warm, but his green eyes are cold. "Oh, now, that's very thoughtful of ya, lad. But I think that Daniel and I will just have a bit of a taxi ride instead, if you'll give us the name of the hotel. Ya see, it's not that I don't trust ya," his eyes narrow. "but I don't KNOW ya."

Good. I had told Olivero that anyone who had risen so quickly in our world would be unlikely to be trusting enough to just go with someone he did not know. In a way, this has been a small test, one of many that are to follow. Connor Galbraith has passed it handily. He has proved at least a decent level of caution.

I bow my head. "As you say, senor. A wise course of action. Would you mind, then, if I accompanied you? I can have an associate pick up the car later. Senor Montana would not like for me to abandon his guests." Galbraith looks at his companion questioningly.

Daniel Ballard has crossed his arms petulantly. Now he uses one fingertip to pull his sunglasses down his nose, and looks at me over the rims. He has the most extraordinary eyes I have seen in years. They look golden. No wonder Senor Galbraith is smitten with him. Even if he is spoiled. At last he says. "Oh, I suppose it's all right. He looks like a nice enough boy."

I drew myself up proudly. "Senor, I am a MAN." He smiles lazily. Perhaps he would have taken my remark more seriously if the top of my head was not even with his nose. I begin to see how Daniel Ballard draws others. It would be a great temptation to PROVE to him that you are a man, and not by beating him.

Daniel refuses to leave the terminal until a taxi is found and the luggage loaded. "Are you KIDDING, Con? In THAT heat? I'd melt into a little puddle on the sidewalk."

Senor Galbraith playfully pinches his hip. "Then I'd be there to lap ya up, Danny."

That is another bit of information confirmed. They are very playful with each other, these two. And they are not shy about expressing their affection in public, in words or acts.

Ballard snorts. "You vulgar man. Kiss me." They kiss, and I see the quick flicker of a tongue, though I cannot tell who is the aggressor.

We all three squeeze into the back seat of the taxi. I sit behind the driver, with Ballard beside me and Galbraith on his other side. Ballard sits back with a sigh as the taxi pulls away from the curb. "When will they invent something to keep all the cool air from leaking out when you open a car door? This is almost as bad as outside." He pulls a handkerchief from his pant's pocket, nudging me as he does so. "Oh, sorry, little man." Again the lazy smile. It makes me think about kissing him till he moans. He takes Galbraith's chin in his hand and gently blots beads of sweat from his brow and jaw. Then he smiles at me. "You're awful sweaty, too. Would you like...?" He holds up the kerchief questioningly. I look at Galbraith, but he only raises an eyebrow. I nod.

His fingers are cool as he touches my chin. He pats my forehead, and my cheeks with the cloth. Then his hand moves down, and he slowly pats my throat. He is wearing his sunglasses, and I can't see his eyes. I want to, very much. His expression hasn't changed: there is still that small smile.

Galbraith says, "Danny, quit teasing the boy."

He sits back with a pout. "You're no fun."

Galbraith leans over him. "Forgive him, lad. He's a dreadful flirt. I'd have beaten him to death a long time ago if I thought he really meant it."

"Have I told you what an awful liar he is?" Ballard dries his own face, then his throat. I watch as he unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt and mops at the perspiration that glows on his chest. He is facing straight ahead, but somehow I know he is aware of my gaze.

"Danny." There is a hint of warning in Galbraith's voice.

Ballard grimaces, and re-buttons his shirt. "This shirt is going to be absolutely ruined, you know that, don't you? They're never the same after you sweat heavily in them."

"If that's a hint, yes, you can go shopping. Later." Ballard's smile becomes smug. Yes, he is spoiled. I can't help but wonder if he is worth it. I think he must be. Connor Galbraith is not so rich as my master, but he is well-to-do by the world's standards. He can afford to buy himself the best men and women to satisfy his every whim. He chooses to stay with this man, and treats him as an honored husband. That says much.

I know that my master cares for me... as much as he is capable of caring for any living being. But I do not delude myself by thinking that I am irreplaceable. If it suited his purposes, he would kill me. Perhaps he would mourn me for a few days, even as much as a few weeks. Then he would take someone else to his bed, and his life would go on. I know my worth in his eyes. I do all that I can to increase it.

My master is in the city, and nothing pressing keeps him away. It is simply that he does not wish to seem too eager. That would put him in the less powerful position, he feels. I do not doubt he is correct. Such men as my padrone and this Galbraith know that dealings in our world call for as much show and delicacy as any diplomatic relations between nations that could be allies... or foes.

Still, Montana does not want to be disrespectful, so he has sent an ambassador to welcome the visitors. I act in that capacity. I am to see to their every comfort, provide them with anything they might wish: liquor, drugs, women, men... myself.

The idea might have displeased me. It would not be the first time Olivero has used me as a whore to lever some concession from an interested party, male or female. This time it would be a pleasure to serve him in that manner. Both of these men are very beautiful, very hot. Their ease says that they know sex, and are comfortable with it. It would be enjoyable to service them.

Despite their mutual possessiveness, we know from our reports that Galbraith and Daniel occasionally take outside partners, almost always together. It is believed that any solo rendevous are know to the other partner, and approved. An 'open' relationship, yes, but a very NARROW opening. I do not doubt that if one showed interest in someone the other disapproved of, there would be fireworks. Neither Southerners, nor the Irish, are well known for their tolerance of unfaithfulness in their mates.

"If you wish, senors, I can show you a few of the sights in Bogota this afternoon."

Daniel again peers over his glasses at me. "Y'all DO have clubs here, right?"

"Of course, senor. Very fine clubs, of all kinds. My padrone wishes to invite you to one that he owns tomorrow night, as his special guests."

"That'll be fine, boyo. Danny, there'll be no clubbing for you tonight. You'll be going to bed early. I won't be dealing with you growling like a bear all day tomorrow."

"Connor, really!"

"You do, and you know it. You get jet lagged, and if you don't sleep, you try to make up for it with caffeine, and that makes ya as snappish as a bear trap."

Daniel leans toward me confidentially. "Not only does he lie, he exaggerates outrageously."

"Danny," Connor says quietly. "Darlin', it isn't that I mind ya flirtin' with the boy. But we don't know what his situation is. He may have a friend who'd object. Strongly."

"Oh." Ballard turns those bright eyes back on me. "So, DO you have a special friend, Manuel?"

There was a time when such a question might have made me blush. It was not easy for me to accept the fact that I found the mouths and asses of men more attractive than the pussies of women. Our culture does not much respect one who lusts after his own kind.

If you are a man who loves men, you must be very strong, or you are a victim. I have chosen not to be a victim. Though some would look at what passes between my master and myself, and think that I lie. But this is from choice, it is not forced upon me. I submit, but because I choose to.

I answer him honestly. "Yes. I belong to Senor Montana." I smile. "But he shares."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 26

Olivero's POV

I keep an apartment in the city, for the sake of convenience. Several times a year I spend a week or two there, and sometimes I lend it to friends or associates. I could have had Galbraith come here: there is room. But I do not want to appear over-eager to please him.

No, the hotel is good enough. I have made sure that the accommodations are lavish, but not ostentatious. I have seen to it that they are supplied with all the little amenities I think they might like, and I have sent my own boy, Manuel, to greet them.

I wonder if they realize that this is an honor I am showing them? It would have been simpler to send one of my grunts, instead of depriving myself of Manuel's company. Instead I send someone who means something to me personally.

I sit in my darkened living room, drinking brandy. He's taking his time, my Manuel. He left more than five hours ago for the airport. Or maybe it is not Manuel who is responsible for the delay in his return. Galbraith and Ballard have a certain... reputation. They like handsome young men, and my Manuel is very beautiful. Perhaps they have coaxed him into a bit of play?

The thought does not displease me. I told Manuel to give them anything they wanted. Anything. I like to share my boy, as long as it is at MY directive. He knows well enough not to make advances to anyone without my permission. I've never had to worry about that with him, not like some of my previous lovers. God rest their souls.

At last I hear his key in the lock. I do not look around as he enters, and I hear him pause near the door. I know what he is doing. He is studying me, trying to gauge my mood and decide what he will do and say, how he will act. That is one of the things I value in Manuel. He never ceases to think of how he may best please me.

I hear the muted clunks that tell me he has removed his shoes. It is a sign of subservience that he remains barefoot while under any roof I provide for him. There is the soft pad of his footsteps as he approaches, then he is kneeling near my feet. He is >mute, waiting to be acknowleged. "You took long enough." My tone is not quite accusatory.

"I am sorry, sir. They invited me to dinner, and I recalled your instructions to deny them nothing."

"You could have called."

His beautiful olive complexion pales slightly, but he does not protest. "Yes, sir. I should have. I did not think. I crave your pardon."

Normally such an infraction would earn at least a slap, but I relent. I am in a good mood. My plans seem to be progressing nicely, and I am feeling indulgent. "It's all right. This time."

He realizes he has escaped punishment, and his tense posture relaxes just a bit. He knows enough to be properly grateful. "Thank you, sir. Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?"

I pat the cushion beside me. Now that he has permission, he moves up to sit with me. "You can tell me about our two new friends." I tip the glass to his lips, and he sips obediently. He licks the last of the liquor from his lips and watches as I take another swallow, then set the glass aside on the side table."What do you think of them? What happened?"

He frowns slightly, his eyes intent. He takes this seriously, and he is marshaling his words. At last he says, "They are much as we expected. There was no great surprise. The photographs..." He shook his head, smiling now. "They do not do justice."

"Nice, eh?"

He nods. "Both of them, very attractive. I prefer Galbraith, but I think you will like Ballard more."

"Why is that?" I know why, but I like to hear him talk, especially about sex.

"His nature. Galbraith is the one with power. Ballard... he is not effeminate, you understand, but he is... softer."

*Yes, Manuel, you know what I like. I have no use for the man/woman creatures. If I want a woman, I want a woman. If I want a man, I want a man.*

"I will have to send someone for the car at the airport. As I thought, they did not accept the ride. More simple caution than actual suspicion, I think." I nod. Caution is a good thing: suspicion can be dangerous.

"Were they pleased with their rooms?"

He shrugged. "They did not complain. Galbraith thanked me. Ballard just examined everything, testing the bed. He seemed to take it all as only what he deserves."

I grunt, amused. "I hear his lover spoils him. Is he worth it, do you think?"

Manuel smiles slowly. "Yes, I think so."

I touch his leg. "Did you find out?"

He sighs. "Not this time, but perhaps another. They are both flirtatious, Daniel the most. I think he would be interested, if his keeper approves."

"An interesting possibility. You'd like to top him, Manuel?" I never allow him to top me; him, or anyone else. That happened a time or two when I was young, poor, and obscure. The ones who did it were careless of my pleasure, and my emotions. It spoiled the act for me. I will not do it again.

He answers me honestly, knowing I will not fault him for his desires, as long as he controls them and awaits my permission to act on them. "Yes. It is hard to look at him and not want to fuck him. But I want the other, too. I want them both."

"We shall see, my pet. Now, this talk of sex has awakened a certain part of me." I let my voice harden. "On your knees, slave."

He moves quickly, kneeling again near my feet. "How do you want me, Master?" Oh, he's a good slave.

"Your mouth. Slowly." I spread my legs, and Manuel moves forward to place himself between them. How many times have I seen him like this? Yet I never tire of the sight.

He strokes my thighs for a long moment, running his hands along the inside of my legs I am wearing thin, knit trousers, and I can feel his touch easily. His hands move up to cover my crotch, kneading gently. He feels, following the outline of my cock through the material. I am not wearing underwear. It was an unnecessary expense when I was a poor child, and I never got in the habit. I only wear it occasionally now, more for the erotic feel of fine linen or silk, and the added erotic fillip of having it removed. Not today, though. Today all that separates my flesh from his is that one, thin layer of cloth.

Manuel has made a study of what arouses me. He knows that I like it either fast and brutal, or slow and sensuous. He has gauged my present mood correctly, and his touch is light. He works, stroking and squeezing, as my prick firms. Soon it is stiff, lifting my fly in a straining arch. A small damp patch appears over the head, where pre-seminal fluid has begun to ooze from the slit. He leans forward and puts his mouth over the tiny spot, sucking and licking. I can feel the moist heat, and I sigh. "Open them, slave. I want your tongue on me."

He silently opens my pants, and I lift my ass to allow him to slide them down. He pulls them off and sets them aside while I remove my shirt. When I am sitting naked before him, he begins to reach for me, but I stop him. "Yours, now. But don't get up."

He strips while still on his knees. Much practice has made him graceful in this. I enjoy the slide of his muscles as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and reach out to caress one dark nipple. He stops, eyes half closing, a small smile ghosting across his lips. I pinch, and he winces, but heat flares in his eyes. "Did I give you permission to stop, slave?"

He opens his mouth, then hesitates. Looking down he says humbly, "May I speak?"

Good, good. "Yes. Speak if you will, unless I tell you to be silent."

"I am sorry, Master. May I resume?"

"Yes." The pants, then the underwear go. All are folded into a neat pile before he once again kneels before me. "Now, to your work, boy."

He moves up into the fork of my legs, his head dipping forward, and I feel the first velvet touch of his tongue on the very tip of my glans. He holds me at the base and begins the slow, soft torture I love so well. We can do this for a long time, Manuel and I. I have trained him to sense when I near completion, and to stop me if I have not indicated my readiness. A quick constriction at the base of my cock, just above the balls, halts the eruption of my sperm time and again. Part of the trick of being a durable lover is having a good partner. Manuel is excellent.

I watch his neat, dark head moving as he laps up and down the length of my shaft. I shift, and he pauses at the base to suck first one, then the other testicle, dabbing each firmly with his tongue. Then he rises again to suck just the head, and finally swallows me, slowly.

Halfway down he has to pause and take a moment to adjust, and I allow it. He is not being lazy or willful. I am generously endowed, and it is not easy for him to take my full length down his throat, but he never protests. In all things carnal, he is a willing participant.

Finally I am engulfed. I hold his head, gently tonight, and begin to fuck up into his mouth with short, easy strokes. "Touch yourself, but don't come. I want you to come when I fuck you."

He shifts, not really surprised that I want him both ways tonight, and reaches down to take hold of his own prick. Manuel has a pretty dick: not so big as some, but beautifully formed, and he knows how to use it. Now he strokes himself while I pump into his mouth.

His breathing is faster now, ruffling my pubic hair, and he makes tiny whines as I push in deeply. When I feel myself coming close to orgasm, I release his head. He does not pull back, but continues sucking, waiting for a signal from me as to what I want next."On your knees, over the table."

He pulls free and turns, arranging himself over the low, sturdy coffee table before me, presenting his small, perfect ass. I kneel behind him as he spreads his knees for me. Spreading his cheeks, I see that the butt plug is still in place. Manuel removes it only when he relieves himself, or when we fuck. I ease it out, noticing how it glistens. "Good. You used plenty of lubricant."

His arms are folded before him, and he rests his cheek on them. "It makes it slide so nicely when I move, Master."

I slap one firm buttock. "Slut."

He sighs. "Yes, Master."

I spread him again, and examine his opening. It is well stretched from the plug, and I will not need to prepare him any further. Manuel is always ready for me. But to be sure, I suddenly plunge three stiff fingers into his cavity. His back arches, and he hisses as I rake over his prostate. The tone of our session has just changed. He knows that it will be fast and strong now.

He knows what I want, and begs, "Fuck me, master! Fuck me hard."

"How hard, bitch?"

He looks back at me, dark eyes glazed, mouth loose. "So hard that anyone who saw would think it were rape."

"It is impossible to rape you, whore. You always enjoy it." I slam into him, sheathing my cock in his rectum in one lunge. Manuel stiffens in a combination of pain and pleasure. Even loosened as he was, it is a shock, taking all of me so quickly. I relish the sharp cry that slides into a wanton, needy whimper as I begin to fuck him.

Manuel is still almost as tight as he was when I first took him three years ago. He was a cocky eighteen year old, who had the nerve to proposition me in the men's room of a club. It was obvious that he had slipped in: his clothing was far too shabby to have let him pass at the front door. He sucked me in a stall, then pushed me down on the toilet, dropped his ragged pants, and impaled himself on my cock, riding me to completion.

I took him home, and he has been with me ever since. He confessed that he had carefully chosen me as the man he would belong to, if I would have him. He had grown up on the streets, and knew the score. He knew exactly what he was getting into.

I have fucked him countless times since I acquired him, and it never grows dull. It's a shame he cannot bear children, otherwise he would have made a good enough wife. He is beautiful, intelligent, fiercely loyal, and can empty my balls like no one else I know.

At first, all he can do is hang on to the table as I ride him, buffeting his slender body. His erection, trapped under his belly, rubs against the smooth tabletop. Luckily, it is glass. Otherwise the fluid weeping from his rigid prick could leave streaks that would mar a wood finish.

But as I speed up, he finds my rhythm, and begins to thrust back at me. Our bodies meet with meaty smacks. Those, and our heavy breathing and grunts are the only sounds in the room. But as my strokes become shorter and harder, stabbing into him, he begins to whisper to me, obscenities and endearments, pleas and exclamations of pleasure.

Impatient for my release, I go still, buried deep inside him, holding his hips in a grip that will leave bruises, and command, "Work your ass, boy! Suck me with it."

He immediately bears down, and I feel the strong, talented muscles of his back passage ripple around me. He has practiced this, working on the plug or a vibrator for many minutes, strengthening his muscles to give me more pleasure. It is as if there is a fist inside him, gripping me firmly, squeezing and stroking. I come with a roar, spilling my seed into that tight grip.

When he feels the liquid pulse, he allows his own concentration to falter. I reach down and grab his balls, giving them a hard squeeze, and he comes with a choked gasp.

I pull out, leaving him to recover, collapsed across the table. I pick up the drink I had set aside and finish it, sitting on the sofa, watching Manuel as he slowly comes back to himself. Even in this dim light, I can see the shiny silver trail that my sperm makes, running down the inside of his thighs.

At last, with a groan, he pushes himself back firmly onto his knees. Turning, he moves between my thighs and begins to lick me clean. He had protested this once when we were first together, but only once. He's learned to keep himself cleaned out, if he doesn't like the taste of shit.

When he is done, I pull him onto my lap and sit, holding him in the dark. He rests his head on my shoulder. Anyone seeing us there would believe that we are simply lovers. I suppose it would never occur to them that occasionally a master will take his pet onto his lap to be caressed.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 27

Author's Notes: Translation: beso negro (noun) : The act of having a woman or a man sucking someone's anus, first licking the external surroundings of it and afterwards having her/his tongue introduced into the rectum completely. Literally, black kiss. It is a term widely known among promiscuous social establishments in Spain, but also known as an act of supreme and refined taste among aristocrats in Spain, France and Italy for the last two centuries. It was considered as about the most pleasant act a female could do for a man, and is widely documented in French and Spanish Erotic Literature. Also, Spanish and French courtesans would appreciate the quality of a gentleman's manners by the way he would perform it. Nowadays, it is becoming a fashionable act, as tradition is recovered. From The Alternative Dictionary. "Deseo darle beso negro." I want to give you the black kiss, or literally, I desire to give you. Okay, technically, I don't know if they say this in Columbia, but it SOUNDS like something Olivero would say.

* * *

Introductions

The dinner with Manuel had been pleasant enough. Mulder thought that he might have really enjoyed Manuel's company, if he had met him under other circumstances, and if, perhaps, he hadn't known for a fact that he was a drug trafficker, and quite possibly a murderer.

*You'd never know just by looking at him,* Mulder had thought, watching as the young man laughed at something Ethan had said, his dark eyes sparkling. But then that was pretty much the way with all of the really 'successful' killers, wasn't it? The reason they went on for so long and claimed so many victims was because they could project a pleasant, even sometimes attractive or at least harmless image. Look at Ted Bundy. How many women had gone with him willingly? Or Jeffrey Dahmer. The man had looked like the class dweeb, until he was pulling out the knife or the drill. He had no way of knowing for sure if Manuel had ever committed a violent act, but his close association with Olivero made it not only possible, but probable.

When Manuel had touched his hand to make some point during the conversation, Fox had reminded himself of this. *You don't know him, Mulder. You don't know what he looks like when he's angry, or what he'd do if he was crossed. You don't know what he's capable of.*

The fact that Olivero had sent him said something. Judging from the size of his operation, and his precipitous rise, Montana was not a reckless man. On a deal as important as this, he would send someone he trusted. And Mulder doubted that Olivero would trust anyone who was not nearly amoral as he was. As to whether Manuel was an actual physical threat on his own, they'd have to wait and see.

In their room, Ethan quickly used the little electronic scanner he had used on the interview room when he first met Mulder. It would be left with a courier before they went on to Montana's compound.

The room was clean. Ethan put away the device, saying, "And what do you make of the situation so far?"

Mulder kicked off his shoes and sprawled comfortably on the big bed. "He hasn't even met with us yet, and already he's starting the games."

"You got that impression, too, did you?"

Mulder nodded. "Oh, yes. Not meeting us at the airport. He's telling us that he's a busy, important man. Too many irons in the fire to neglect any of them just to welcome us. But he wants to show he appreciates us, so he sends someone special to him instead."

Ethan sat beside Mulder and started unbuttoning the FBI agent's shirt. "How special do you think he is? Is he someone that's going to be on the inside of the operation, or is he just Olivero's piece?"

Mulder watched Ethan's hands as he spoke. "I'd say he's in the loop. This venture means enough to Montana that he isn't going to want any slip-ups. He wouldn't have sent us anyone ignorant. I think Manuel might even be his second in command."

Ethan had opened the shirt. Now he stroked Mulder's chest slowly. "He's a little young for that, isn't he?"

Mulder closed his eyes as Ethan began circling around his nipples. "Age is relative. He might be young to us, but the records say he grew up on the streets, and you mature quickly in that environment, or you die. In any case, I think we have to consider him dangerous."

Ethan nodded, and leaned over, licking Mulder's right nipple. His lover sighed softly, and settled a hand against the back of his head. For a moment there was quiet as Ethan sucked the little bud to a firm peak. Then, with a gentle bite, he sat up and began removing his own shirt. "You were putting on quite a show with him in the taxi."

Mulder arched an eyebrow. In Daniel's voice he said, "Why, Con, honey! You KNOW I don't mean it. You're the only one I love."

"Stop it." Ethan kissed him. "Not tonight, not now. I want one more night with just you, Mulder. We'll have to be careful when we're with Montana, but tonight I want Fox Mulder and not Daniel Ballard, okay?"

"I'm glad."

There was so much in those two words. Ethan wished that he'd met Mulder some other way, some way not tied into a mission. Mulder knew that Ethan had been seeing him in relation to Daniel Ballard even before they met in Skinner's office. He was a psychologist, and was bound to look for layers in the relationship they were building. Only a supremely self-confident person would be able to dismiss the possible association with the other man.

As they made love, Ethan spoke Fox's name over and over, whispering it in his ear, calling it as he climaxed, telling him again and again that he was the one he desired. When they were done, Mulder was able to go to sleep, secure in Ethan's arms. Ethan, however, lay awake for awhile, watching his lover sleep, wondering at himself for allowing someone he cared for, and quite probably loved, walk into such a dangerous situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Manuel came to their hotel a little before noon. "Good day, senors."

"Y'all believe in starting the day kind of late, don't you?" Mulder drawled. "And they say we southerners are lazy."

"Danny!" Ethan said sharply.

"Oh, pooh, Con. The boy knows I'm just teasing him," Mulder responded. He gave Manuel a smile. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't like you, right?"

Manuel returned the smile. "As you say, Senor Ballard." He thought, *I hope you are careful with your teasing with Olivero. He is unpredictable in that. He may find you amusing, or he may decide to beat the impertinence out of you.*

He continued, "My master thought that you would appreciate the chance to rest after your long flight."

Mulder nodded. "Yes, that was good of him. Flying fatigues me, I'm afraid. I'm just not part of the jet set." "And where, pray tell, is your master now, boyo?" Ethan asked.

"He has some business to attend to, but says..."

Ethan interrupted him, his voice hard. "Yes, he DOES have business to attend to, right here! I'm beginnin' to think that perhaps Mr. Montana isn't quite so keen as he let on."

"No, no, senor!" Manuel said quickly. "Please, you must not take offense! Senor Montana values you and your good regard, but things come up unexpectedly. You are a businessman, you understand this, yes?"

Ethan scowled. "A certain amount of delay I can understand, but it starts to feel like he's puttin' us off."

Mulder knew Daniel's place in a situation like this. He would try too calm and soothe his lover. "Con, darlin', cool down, now. It isn't this boy's fault if his boss man is having trouble getting things together, is it? Anyway, we have time." He tickled Ethan under the chin. "You promised to take me shopping, remember?"

Manuel jumped in eagerly. "Yes! We have many fine shops here in the city. I will be happy to take you to them. They will be proud to have friends of Senor Montana as customers."

Ethan snorted. "They can be proud to have us on our own merit, can't they?" But he softened when Mulder again tickled him, and he smiled. "Oh, all right. Let me go tend to nature, and we'll see what we can find for you, Danny."

When he was in the restroom, Manuel said quietly, "Thank you, Senor Ballard."

"For what?"

"For easing his anger. My master would be very upset with me if you and your friend were not happy."

Fox's eyebrows rose. "Well, he shouldn't hold you accountable for THAT. Anyway, don't bother to thank me. Keeping Connor Galbraith happy is my vocation." His eyes twinkled. "I was called to serve, and I answered gladly."

Manuel gave him a look that spoke of shared knowledge. "We have both chosen our place, haven't we?" Mulder looked a little startled, then said slowly, "Yes, I suppose we have."

They had a light lunch at an outdoor cafe, then Manuel made good on his promise by taking them to the most exclusive stores in Bogota. Also as he promised, the mention of Olivero de la Montana's name was enough to have the staff of each establishment fawning in an almost embarrassing manner.

This time on the buying, Mulder showed a bit more determination and independence in his clothing choices. Once again he allowed Ethan to make most of the choices, as he had back in America. But once or twice he held firm on his pick, knowing that Daniel would be expected to show a certain amount of willfulness. Manuel watched him cajole and pout when 'Connor' tried to talk him out of buying the same shirt in three different colors. Ethan finally let himself be persuaded that Mulder needed green to make his eyes green, blue to make them blue, and brown to make them golden. That little transaction alone set the MI force back three hundred dollars, and he wondered what his control was going to have to say about that? They'd probably find some way to justify the expense as wardrobe, or uniform expenditures.

They were done by early evening, and it was agreed that the two visitors would refresh themselves and dress, and that Manuel would pick them up and bring them to meet Montana for dinner.

That evening, after a bit of debate, it was decided that Galbraith and Ballard would probably try to look a bit businesslike for their first meeting with Olivero. Ethan wore a simple, but fine, dark suit. Fox wore the dark blue blazer that had been one of his first pieces of 'Daniel wear', with a pearl grey shirt and white trousers. The businesslike effect was a bit offset by the tightness of his pants. They hugged his ass lovingly.

Manuel came for them, and Ethan said sharply, "So, he still can't take time to come for us personally, eh?"

Mulder put a hand on his arm. "Stop it, Con. Give the man a chance, will you? Don't start judging him till you've met him. I intend to have a good time tonight, and I won't have you spoiling it."

Manuel had told Olivero of Galbraith's impatience, and Ballard's peacekeeping. He understood Galbraith's irritation. He himself would have been furious if he had been in a similar situation. He decided that he couldn't afford to be any more aloof, and planned to make this evening a pleasant one for the two visitors.

Manuel took them to a small place on the outskirts of the city.. From the outside, it looked like the home of a well-to-do family, but inside it had been modified to be a discreet, high class restaurant. They were led into a private room, where Montana was waiting for them.

As he rose to greet them, both Mulder and Hunt studied him carefully. The photographs had not given a sense of how big the man was. Mulder was tall, but Olivero topped him by half a head, and his body was broad and thick. He was a massive man, but he moved with a smoothness that belied his bulk. *And none of that is fat,* Mulder thought.

He greeted them with a smile. "Senor Galbraith. Senor Ballard. I am Olivero de la Montana. I beg your forgiveness for the delay in our meeting. As I am sure you understand, things can come up abruptly in our line of work."

Ethan hesitated for a moment. Connor would probably be tempted to play power games along with Montana, but this deal was too important to do so for long. Finally he smiled, and shook hands. "Aye, the world has a way of..." he said with a shrug "having its way." He put a hand on Fox's shoulder. "My associate and friend, Daniel Ballard."

Olivero's grip lingered just a fraction longer than it had to. "Yes, I was expecting him. So pleased to meet you both." His hands were smooth, the nails well kept in the fashion of a man who does not have to do physical work for his living. But his early years of labor were evident in the strength of his grip, and the hardness underneath the smooth surface. "Please, sit."

Fox tried not to act surprised when Olivero pulled out his chair for him. Ethan raised an eyebrow, but did the same for Manuel before taking his seat opposite Fox. Olivero sat as a waiter brought menus and another poured water. "I wish to make a suggestion, Senor Galbraith. Tonight, let us put aside business matters. I would prefer not to discuss this in a public place, as I am sure you can understand."

Ethan nodded, sipping his water. "No objection to that. Pretty bloody sensible, actually."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I've been listening to nothing else for the past week, and frankly, I'm tired of it." Fox gave a small smile to the handsome waiter who handed him his menu, inspiring a faint blush.

It didn't escape Olivero's notice. *He likes to play, this one. Good. The question is, does he only play if he thinks he is safe from having to make good on his unspoken promises?* Aloud he said, "Then I must do my best to amuse you tonight. When we are done here, would you like to go to a club?"

Fox sat back as if someone had made a shocking suggestion. "Would I like to go to a club?" He looked at Ethan. "He wants to know if I would like to go to a club."

Ethan smiled, shaking his head. "Senor, when it comes to Danny, 'like' is far to weak a word to use when you're talking about clubs."

"Excellent. There is a little place farther into town that is very popular. It is not always easy to get in, but I own a percentage. There will be no problem. And this will be a long week indeed if we continue to stand on ceremony. Please, call me Olivero." He smiled at Fox. "Or Vero, as my friends do." "Yes, first names all around, eh? Much cozier. Now then..." Fox opened his menu and leaned a little closer to Olivero. "I'm going to need your help on this. My Spanish is hopeless. All I know is cerveza."

*Oh, well done, Fox,* Ethan thought, opening his own menu. *Now he'll speak in front of you more freely, thinking you won't understand.*

Olivero patiently translated almost the entire menu for the American. He enjoyed the faint whiff of Daniel's good cologne when he leaned closer to point out some item. Yes, Daniel Ballard was just his sort of meat: a well-bred, spoiled, handsome Anglo. Olivero had a penchant for Daniel's type dating back to his youth.

He resisted the urge to reach over during dinner and stroke the American's thigh. He needed to observe Galbraith a little more first, judge how he might react. Jealousy was a tricky thing.

After their meal, Manuel drove them back toward the center of town. Fox, sitting in the front seat with him, turned back to the two seated in the rear. "If this place is anything at all like the clubs back home, I am NOT dressed properly."

"Danny, you'll just have to deal with it," Ethan chided. "We're not going back to the hotel just so you can change clothes. You look fine."

Mulder huffed. "I can look BETTER. Well, there are still a few things I can do so I won't look HOPELESSLY out of place." He pulled off his tie, throwing it back at Connor. "Hold on to that for me, would you, dear?"

Connor stuffed the tie in his jacket pocket. "And why can't you keep it yourself?"

Mulder was unbuttoning his blazer. "Because I'm not going to be wearing this thing, and it might fall out of the pocket, that's why."

"Danny, I'm not sure you should."

"No, let him be comfortable." Montana smiled at Fox, his eyes glinting as the other man removed the blazer. "Please, Daniel, take off anything you like."

Fox tossed the blazer back to Connor, his eyebrows arching as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. "I won't be going any farther than this right now. I have to like you very, very much before I give free shows." He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, opening the collar with a relieved sigh. "There. I swear, sometimes those button-downs like to choke a man. Now." He looked down at himself. "Not quite as colorful as I might like, but I believe I'm presentable."

Ethan snorted. "He's fishin' for compliments again."

Half turned toward the back seat, Fox tapped a long finger on the headrest. "Well?"

"You're beautiful, Danny. As always."

Fox nodded in satisfaction, saying, "Yes. But you're prejudiced." Then he looked questioningly at Montana.

For a moment, Olivero was silent. Fox folded his arms on the seat, resting his chin on them. The pose said he was willing to wait to hear his due. At last Olivero said, "Connor speaks the truth, Daniel. He studied the other man a moment more, then said quietly, "Deseo darle beso negro."

Manuel stiffled a giggle. Connor and Mulder looked politely puzzled. Fox knew the literal interpretation of what Montana had said, but he somehow thought that it was a slang term that had a completely DIFFERENT level of meaning. So he just said mildly, "Well, I don't know what that means, but it sounds pretty."

Olivero's smile was wolfish. "It can be very beautiful. I hope I can show you before you leave."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 28

Author's Notes: I've been waiting to write this one! Almost since the inception I've had my image of Mulder on the dance floor (you'll know what I mean when you come to it) and I couldn't shake it (not that I really WANTED to...) Hopefully this is like having a song stuck in your mind: now that I've done it, maybe I can move on to fresh fantasies. :)

Yes, I admit it. I LOVE DISCO! I'm sorry, but I was RAISED on it, people. That'll give you some idea of how old I am. My first car had an 8-track in it, okay? *bursts into Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive.'* 'Fire' was by the Ohio Players, and It's Raining Men was by The Weather Girls. I don't own 'em, but I love 'em.

* * *

Clubbing

The club was called Rendevous, a fairly typical club name, for a fairly typical club. Oh, it was nice, but it wasn't anything you couldn't find in any other major city on the face of the globe. ("Except maybe Salt Lake City or Mecca," Fox had remarked as they entered.)

What it WAS, was exclusive. There was a line at the front door that would have done justice to Studio 54 back in its heyday. They pushed their way to the front of the crowd, Olivero using his superior bulk to clear a path. At the entrance, Manuel, Fox, and Ethan clustered behind him as he spoke to the large, stolid looking man who was in charge of the velvet rope across the doorway. When he saw Montana, his craggy face split in a fawning smile, and he began nodding before the other man started speaking. He glanced back over Olivero's shoulders at the three young men waiting, and said something in Spanish.

Olivero turned to Fox. "He said he would have let YOU in, even without me."

Fox was unimpressed. "Of course he would. He knows quality when he sees it."

A man who turned out to be the manager rushed to meet them as they entered, not quite bowing but obviously wanting to. Olivero looked to Galbraith and said, "Would you prefer a table or a booth?"

"I think Danny wants to be close to the action."

"Ah. And Daniel gets what he wants?" There was really nothing judgmental in the tone or words, but something about it made Ethan look at Olivero sharply.

"Most of the time. It makes me happy to make him happy."

"Of course." They were led to a table right beside the dance floor. Fox noticed that waiters were quickly hustling patrons away from it and clearing it as they approached. It was pristine when they arrived, and the former occupants had been reseated, grumbling slightly, further back.

Olivero noticed that Daniel was already moving subtly to the driving music that surrounded them. His eyes were fixed on the packed dance floor, watching the flow and sway of bodies. Ballard ordered a Tom Collins when he was asked, but he was so immersed in the music that he scarcely seemed to notice the drink when it was set before him.

Olivero watched the shift of his shoulders, the lively excitement on his face. "You wish to dance?"

"I HAVE to dance." He looked at his lover. "I can, can't I, Con? You're not going to make me sit here and listen to that music and not dance, are you?"

Ethan was hesitant. This was the one part of Daniel and Connor's life that they hadn't practiced, and he realized now that they should have. He had no idea whether or not Fox could pass as a seasoned club hopper. He'd been so buttoned down when they started this mission, he doubted it. "I don't know, Danny. We're here with Olivero--we shouldn't neglect him."

"Nonsense. It's obvious that the boy wants to dance, and tonight is for pleasure, not business." Olivero indicated Manuel. "My young one likes to dance, too. It would be cruel to keep them sitting here, Connor."

The first strains of 'Fire' by the Ohio Players started to thump out, and Fox moaned, grabbing Ethan's hand dramatically. "They're playing disco! Con, PLEASE!"

"Oh, all right! Get on with ya!"

Fox gave a whoop and sprang into the crowd. In seconds he had located a petite blonde girl who had been dancing solo and they started a spirited version of The Bump. Ethan watched, surprised. He knew Mulder could be graceful when he wanted to, but this was something of a revelation. Mulder had been so hesitant in the beginning of their sexual relations, but on the dance floor he was hot, and he knew it.

The two danced apart during the verses, together during the choruses. Ethan watched as Fox writhed to the words. "The way you walk and talk really sets me off to a full alarm..."

Mulder grinned back at the men sitting at the table, winking as his hips swayed. "The way you push, push let's me know that you're, oh," Mulder put his hands behind his head and bumped his hips at Ethan, inspiring a startled burst of laughter, "You're gonna get your wish."

Fox was having a better time than he had expected. He'd danced often at clubs back in D.C. but he'd never really let himself go all the way there. There was always the chance that word would get back to the bureau. Perhaps nothing official would have been done, but sometimes an agent's career stalled for no discernable reason. Here, in the guise of Daniel, he could be as wild as he wanted with the sure knowledge that it was all for a good cause.

There was another rather heady reason Mulder was having such a good time, even knowing how delicate the situation was. He had long known that he was a voyeur: his semi-addiction to pornography proved that well enough. He was just now finding out that he was a bit of an exhibitionist, too.

That song ended, and 'Waterloo', by ABBA started up. Mulder laughed, but kept on dancing. He continued through several songs, never seeming to tire, never lacking for dance partners, both male and female. Ethan swatted himself mentally for worrying. It was clear that Fox was in his element.

Olivero watched, fascinated. *He's so sure of himself, so aware of his power. He knows that everyone who looks at him tonight either wants him or envies him. I wonder what he would do if someone was to act on those desires?* He whispered to Manuel, who grinned and nodded, then got up and went on the dance floor.

He made his way over to where the American was dancing with a girl in a skirt so short that the entire room knew what type underwear she was wearing when the raised her arms, which she did often. Manuel slipped in between them and started dancing.

Fox never missed a beat, but he frowned at the younger man and mouthed the word, "Rude!" Then he moved around him to find his former partner again, smiling apologetically at the girl. Manuel pulled the same trick again, and the frown deepened.

The music died away and started again with 'Never Can Say Goodbye.' Apparently this wasn't a favorite, Olivero thought, because Daniel turned away from Manuel and stalked back to the table. He picked up his drink and downed half of it, then said snappishly to Olivero, "Your little friend is rather pushy."

"He likes you."

"Why shouldn't he? But if I'd wanted to dance with him, I'd have asked. I'll have plenty of time to dance with him while I'm cooped up in the jungle."

Ethan winced at the rudeness, and considered calling Danny/Fox on it, but Olivero was smiling. "I can't deny him his bit of fun, Daniel."

*Oh, there's something going on here,* Ethan thought, remembering the whispered conversation before Manuel had gone to dance.

"Well, I certainly can!" A different song was starting, one that had a background of thunder, and Fox's head jerked around, his face lighting up. "I don't believe it! Oh, this one is MINE!"

He plunged back into the crowd as the words started. "Hi! We're your Weather Girls. Ah-huh. And have we got news for you. You better listen! Get ready, all you lonely girls and leave those umbrellas at home. All right!."

Ethan wanted to whistle. *Damn, I only THOUGHT he was dancing before!* Fox was in the process of putting almost every other dancer on the floor to shame, and they noticed it.

"Humidify is rising. Barometer's getting low. According to all sources, the street's the place to go." The crowd started to thin out around him. Soon he had a fair sized audience gathered around as he dipped and spun joyously to the music as the Weather Girls adviced that the street was the place to go, because at about half past ten... Well, something WONDERFUL was due to happen.

Fox drew a cheer from the crowd when he threw his arms up, palms out and sang along with the chorus of the song. "It's Raining Men! Hallelujah! It's Raining Men! Amen! I'm gonna go out to run and let myself get absolutely soaking wet!"

Manuel had been part of the watching crowd. Now he stepped out and again began dancing with Fox. He received a glower, and Fox turned away from him. But as the song continued, Manuel kept up his pursuit. He moved in close to Fox, invading his personal space time and again. A murmur started in the crowd as his courtship became even more blatant, and Fox's disdain became more clear.

Finally Manuel made contact. He grabbed Fox around the waist and pulled him roughly against his body, thrusting their pelvises together aggressively. There was a gasp from the onlookers as Mulder tried to pull back and Manuel just clung tighter.

"I feel stormy weather moving in about to begin." Thunder was booming and crashing on the soundtrack when Mulder put his hands on Manuel's chest and shoved him violently. Manuel stumbled back a few steps, but he immediately leapt back. He grabbed Mulder's shirt and jerked hard, ripping it half open.

Ethan half rose, but Montana put a hand on his arm. "They're playing. Let them settle this themselves."

Mulder didn't strike the younger man, as Ethan thought he might. He glared at him, his hazel eyes so hot that they seemed to shoot gold sparks. Then to, a huge crash of thunder, he grabbed the edges of his shirt and tore it the rest of the way open, buttons spraying. As the Weather Girls sang, "Hear the thunder, don't you lose your head. Rip off the roof and stay in bed!" he slowly let the shirt slide down his arms, ending up hanging from its tail, tucked in his pants.

He was beautiful. Sweat gleamed on his chest and shoulders, and his hair was falling in his eyes. A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd. The music playing hinted of lightning, but there was electricity of a different sort in the club's air. "God bless Mother Nature, she's a single woman, too. She took off to heaven and she did what she had to do."

His eyes half closed, Mulder ran his hands sensually over his torso, skimming his palms over his nipples, which were hard with excitement, then down his belly to rest on his belt, toying with the buckle. Ethan tensed. He had heard that in the heyday of disco... hell, even today, some of the more uninhibited patrons stripped on the dance floor. It sounded like something Daniel would do, but did they want THAT much attention?

Manuel's eyes followed Mulder's hands avidly, and he licked his lips unconsciously. "She taught every angel to rearrange the sky. So that each and every woman could find her perfect guy."

His thumbs hooked in his waistband, Mulder raised one finger and waved it at Manuel in a 'naughty-naughty' gesture. In one smooth motion he pulled his shirt free of his waistband and threw it in Manuel's face, then started dancing again to the approving cheers of the crowd.

As the final chorus rang out, he danced his way back to the table, a slightly stunned Manuel following him, holding the shirt. Applause followed him. When he came to the table, Ethan stood up, slipping off his jacket, and put it around Mulder's shoulders. "There, love. Can't have you uncovered in this air conditioning after you've been sweating."

"Thank you, Con." Fox sat and drank the rest of his Collins. When Manuel sat opposite him he said coolly, "You owe me for that shirt."

Manuel bowed slightly. "Of course. May I apologize, Daniel? I am afraid I got carried away. But you were... intoxicating."

"I don't know." Fox leaned against Ethan, looking up at him. "CAN he apologize to me, Con? He's being very sweet."

"I suppose so. Though you should know, boyo, that if Danny was really mad, I'd be obliged to kick your ass."

"Of course."

"Well?" Fox leaned an elbow on the table, propping his chin in his hand. "You said you wanted to apologize."

Manuel smiled. "Senor Danny, I humbly beg your pardon for being such a... a..."

"Obnoxious little prick?"

Olivero and Ethan both smothered laughs, and Manuel shrugged sheepishly. "An obnoxious little prick."

"You're forgiven. Just remember next time: if I say no, I mean no."

Manuel thought privately that it would be interesting to see how much good that policy did him if Olivero decided that he wanted him. He watched as Connor pulled his lover over to sit on his lap, and Daniel wound his arms around the Irishman's neck. He shifted slightly now and then, and it was apparent that Galbraith had become aroused watching the show his lover put on.

He wasn't the only one. Manuel had started to get hard the moment he'd ripped Daniel's shirt. The exhibition had only increased his heat. Now he watched Danny squirming his rump against Connor's obvious erection, and he got even harder. Connor was murmuring in his boyfriend's ear. His hand moved into the open jacket and he tweaked Daniel's nipples drawing a soft moan.

Manuel felt a large, hot hand grip his thigh firmly, and looked over at Olivero. His master's eyes were firmly fixed on the couple on the other side of the table, but his hand moved to the inside of Manuel's leg, seeking. When he didn't find what he was looking for along Manuel's thigh, he moved higher. He came to Manuel's crotch, and discovered the firm bulge that said he did not need to be coaxed to attention. He gave a rough, approving squeeze, and Manuel moaned, too. He was going to be well fucked again tonight, that much was sure. Olivero would be like a bull after witnessing this little show.

Connor sat back, licking his lips, and said, "Olivero, would it be all right if we went on home now? It's not that we're unsociable, it's just that Danny is... tired." Daniel laid his head on Connor's shoulder, giving the other men a wide-eyed look.

"Of course. Manuel is tired, also." This time it was Mulder who gave Manuel a small smile of shared understanding. That smile said 'We're BOTH going to get it good tonight, aren't we?'

As they rose to go, Connor said, "Shouldn't we get the check?"

"Why?"

Ethan could come up with no argument for that. They walked out past three waiters, the manager, and the bouncer, and no one said anything. In the car back to the hotel, this time, Manuel had the front seat to himself. Fox sat between Olivero and Ethan, cuddling close to his lover.

Olivero could feel the heat of his body, smell the sharp tang of sweat mixed with cologne. It was all he could do not to touch him, but he managed. It didn't stop him from fantasizing, though. He imagined grabbing Daniel, throwing him across his lover's lap and ripping his pants open, then shoving his legs open and back till they were against his shoulders and mounting him dry. He pictured that handsome, arrogant face twisting first in pain, then lust, for he had no doubt that he could make Daniel Ballard enjoy whatever he chose to do to him.

By the time they dropped the American and Irishman off at their hotel, he was so hard that he was aching. He got into the front seat with Manuel. As they drove off, he opened his lover's fly, shoved his hand in, and began to stroke him, hard. Manuel tried to keep his attention on the road, but it wasn't easy. Twice he almost ran into a parked car, but he knew better than to protest.

When he finally parked in front of their apartment, he was ready to scream. Olivero was fighting with Manuel's belt. "Tilt the damn wheel up!" he demanded. Manuel hit the switch, and the steering wheel tilted up a few inches. At the same time he shifted, half turning so that his lap was moved out from under the wheel.

It was barely in time. Olivero had wrestled his rigid prick through his fly and now he fell upon it, seeming intent on devouring his young lover. Manuel cried out and grabbed at the headrest and the dash, bracing himself as Olivero raked him roughly with his teeth, but he did not soften at all. Knowing what was desired, he began to fuck upward as hard as he could in this position, driving his cock deep into Olivero's throat. This was at least one instance where his master's desires coincided perfectly with his own.

Montana sucked hard, biting occasionally. It was not enough to draw blood, not this time, though it had happened before. It didn't really matter. Manuel was his whore and he took what was given. In any case, he enjoyed it. Olivero knew this because if he was too gentle over a period of time, Manuel would deliberately provoke him, demanding the rougher treatment.

Soon Manuel came, gasping and sobbing as he shot down Olivero's throat. He fell back limply as Montana sat back from him, wiping his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief. When he could breathe again, Manuel reached for Montana to return the favor, but was startled when his hands were slapped away.

When he looked more closely at his lover, he knew why. There was a dark, wet patch on the crotch of Montana's pants. Montana watched Manuel closely, waiting to see what his response would be.

Manuel was silent. Olivero Montana had come in his pants while sucking off his boy whore. This was not something that he would want known by anyone, even Manuel. Manuel followed the wisest course of action. He made his expression contrite and said sincerely, "Master, I am so sorry that I failed to arouse you." The dangerous light faded from Olivero's eyes, and Manuel heaved a mental sigh of relief.

"It is nothing, Manuel." He patted the boy's cheek. "But you... Did you enjoy yourself?"

He smiled brilliantly. "Oh, yes, master."

"What do you think of those two now?"

"I want to fuck the American more than ever."

Olivero laughed. "Yes, he asks for it, that one. His words are cold, but his eyes and his body..." Olivero made that odd sucking sound that so many Latino men used to express admiration, or lust. "Galbraith is interesting, too, but Daniel... Daniel wants it." His eyes grew distant, and his voice was dreamy. "They all want it."

Manuel was quiet. It wasn't safe to deal with Montana when he was in this mood. It had something to do with his past, Manuel was sure, but he didn't know WHAT. There were parts of his history that Montana did not talk about, dark areas. And who knew what horrors crawled in those dark corners?

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 29

*Well, he sure as hell has PDOAs down,* Ethan thought as they were driven back to the hotel. Fox was all over him in the car. His hands roamed restlessly, finding every sensitive spot, till Ethan was sure that hea?Td never before been so turned on while he was fully clothed.

Fox was nipping and licking at his throat and ear, whispering obscene suggestions. Olivero was half turned in the front seat, staring openly. Ethan watched his face as Fox murmured all the things he wanted a?~Connora?T to do to him in graphic detail. Ethan might as well not have been there, or been an inflatable doll, for all the attention he received. No, Olivero was fixated on Mulder, to the exclusion of anything else.

Not that Ethan blamed him. Fox was always hot, but tonight he was incendiary. The guise of Danny seemed to have let loose something inside him and, at this moment, he was the most sexual creature Ethan had ever known.

When they got out and said good-night, Ethan carried Foxa?Ts discarded blazer slung across his arm and hanging in front of him, to disguise the massive erection that bulged against his fly. In the elevator, he reached for Fox as the doors started to slide closed. To his surprise, and frustration, Mulder held him off. "No, Con..." Oh, so he was playing a game, was he? "You cana?Tt touch me, not yet."

"And why not, Danny?" Ethan kept the Irish lilt in his voice, playing along.

"Because I said so. You have to wait. Wait till we're in our room."

"Then what shall we do?" He reached out toward Mulder's face, but his hand was shoved away, and he found that he was, himself, baring his teeth.

"Then you'll take me, but not before." He reached into his pockets, then handed Ethan a rubber and a tube of lubricant. "So you don't have to go looking for it. Because do you know what I'm going to do?"

"What, Danny?" He slipped the supplies in his own pockets. He wanted his hands free. The lights were flickering as they drew closer to their floor.

"When we get in our room, I'm going to go lock myself in the bathroom for a nice, leisurely shower."

"You won't, you know."

"I will. IF you don't stop me."

"I said you won't, Danny."

Mulder smiled. He slipped out of the jacket, tossing it on Ethan's shoulder. Then he stroked his own belly, running a finger in a slow circle around the dip of his navel. "You've been so sweet and considerate, Con. But I know you can be... forceful." His hands slid up, and he rubbed his nipples till they stood out, hard as pebbles. He sighed, giving them a pinch. "Can't you?"

"You know I can." Ethan's voice was hoarse.

Mulder suddenly leaned close and whispered huskily, "Then show me! When we get in there, TAKE what you want! No matter what I say or do. Take it, and don't stop till you're satisfied."

"You play dangerous games, Danny."

The door slid open. "I'm in it for the sport, Con."

At their room, Ethan unlocked the door, and stepped slightly to the side to allow Mulder to pass. Mulder slipped inside...

..and suddenly turned, throwing his weight against the door. Ethan lunged instinctively, managing to get his arm through before the door slammed against him. It hurt. It wasn't agony, but it damn sure wasn't a love tap. *All right. We play for keeps.*

He knew that Fox had been hoping to shut the door and throw the deadbolt. He'd have been trapped out in the hall, then, even WITH the room key, But slowly Ethan managed to force the door open a fraction, then a fraction more. Finally he slithered through. Fox hadn't realized he was so close to succeeding, and it took him by surprise. With nothing blocking the door, his weight slammed it shut, and he stumbled.

He made a lunge toward the bedroom, and Ethan remembered that the door had an inside bolt, also. He had to stop him before he got inside and threw it. He tackled Mulder, bringing him down with a jarring thump that drove most of the wind out of the FBI agent. Ethan moved up, straddling Fox's legs, and pulled off his own tie. "Give me your hands."

Mulder gazed up at him, eyes sparkling. Voice still breathy, he said, "Fuck you, Con." He bucked, hard. Ethan was half thrown off, and Mulder twisted lithely, trying to get on his hands and knees, preparatory to making another lunge for the bathroom.

But Ethan threw himself on Fox again before he could gain his feet, this time knocking him down so that he fell face first. Again he lost his breath, and it was longer coming back this time. By the time he could pull in enough oxygen so that he didn't feel like he was suffocating, Ethan had one arm up behind his back, the silk tie wrapped snugly around the wrist. Fox struggled in earnest, but Ethan caught his other wrist, dragged it back, and bound it to the other. Then he let him go and got up.

Mulder squirmed, cursing. Finally he rolled over onto his back and managed to lift himself up enough to sit against the couch. He watched as Ethan unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the floor. When the dark haired young man started to unbuckle his belt, Mulder got his feet under him and started to push himself up. When he was halfway to his feet, Ethan shoved him back onto the sofa, and he landed in a half slump, butt low on the cushions and legs sprawled out. Immediately Ethan straddled his hips on his knees, trapping him.

"Where d'ya think you're goin', Danny? You've got things to attend to."

"Let me up!"

"When you're through, Danny boy. When you're through. After you give me what you offered back at the club."

"I didn't offer you anything."

"Oh, not in words. But promises were made, Danny, and you know it." Ethan unhooked his belt and opened his fly, pushing his trousers down his thighs.

Fox eyed the bulge in Ethan's jockeys, and said pettishly. "I don't want to."

"You shouldn't lie to me like that, Danny," Ethan chided. "Of course you want to." He massaged his erection through the straining cotton knit, fingering the damp patch of pre-come. "Look at that. See what you do to me? In any case, I think I'll believe this..." Ethan reached down and cupped the swell at Mulder's crotch firmly, giving it a squeeze and adding "...before I believe what you say."

He opened Mulder's pants, spreading the fly so that he could work Mulder's hardened prick through the opening. "Now, if you're good to me, I'll be good to you." He stroked the engorged shaft, and Mulder closed his eyes. "You like that, pet. Come on, now. Be nice to daddy."

Fox turned his head, but Ethan gripped his hair and turned him back. He moved his hips forward, and the rosy head of his prick touched Mulder's lips. He moved slightly, and warm pre-come slicked the sulky mouth. He crooned, "Be sweet to me, Danny." After a moment, the tiniest bit of pink tongue crept out and touched his glans hesitantly. "Yes, darlin'. Taste me."

Mulder licked his lips, then let his tongue dart out a little further, and lapped the slick pink knob. Ethan hissed in pleasure and bumped it again against his lips, asking for entrance. Another moment's hesitation, and Mulder took the head into his mouth, sucking it softly. Ethan sighed, and started stroking Mulder gently. "That's my good boy, that's my sweet boy." He pushed his hips forward, to slide more deeply, and Mulder tried to pull back, making a protesting noise.

Ethan held his head firmly, and his grip on Mulder's dick tightened in warning. "Go on, Danny. Take it. You know you want to.

Mulder's heart was thumping. He'd had sex with Ethan many different ways, but never like this. Ethan was forthright about what he wanted, and could be demanding, but it had never really approached coersion this closely. It alarmed Fox a little to realize how hot he was for this. *But I know it's Ethan. I know that he'd stop, if I really wanted him to. Wouldn't he?*

A drop of salty, slightly bitter pre-come landed on his tongue, and he decided that he didn't want to find out. Instead he opened his mouth wider and allowed Ethan to slide deep, stroking his tongue along the ridge that ran up the underside of Ethan's prick. This earned him a pleased whine, and Ethan resumed jerking him off.

Ethan had been waiting to see if Fox was serious, or was only playing at reluctance. When he felt Mulder's tongue moving against his heated flesh, he took it for what it seemed to be, if not what it was: acceptance. Still holding his hair he began to fuck Mulder's mouth with short, easy strokes.

Ethan had never actually forced himself on anyone and he wasn't going to start, but this, a willing partner playing at resistance... This was hot. He knew that Mulder wasn't really a submissive person. Tonight he was letting the persona of Daniel Ballard take over, and this was just the sort of game Daniel would play. *Well, God bless you, Daniel. I'm sure reaping the benefit.*

He pulled out of Mulder's mouth, and was pleased to see him strain forward, trying to recapture his treat. Instead Ethan turned him and pushed him farther down, till he was lying on the couch with his legs dangling off to the side. He kicked his pants the rest of the way off and knee walked up higher, bringing his crotch up to Mulder's face. Moving over him he said, "Do my balls, Danny. You know what I like."

He masturbated as Mulder licked at his testicles, swirling his tongue over the lightly furred globes, stretching to lick up behind them. Jerking himself with one hand, he lifted his balls with the other and said hoarsely, "Open your mouth." When Mulder shook his head stubbornly, Ethan grabbed more hair and pulled hard enough to make him wince. "Fuck! You've had my bloody cock in your mouth, and now you're gonna balk at my balls? I don't THINK so, Danny! Open!"

Mulder obeyed. Ethan lowered one ball into his mouth, and Mulder closed his lips around it, sucking and probing with his tongue. Ethan groaned. "Yes, like that. Oh, damn, that's sweet." His hand moved faster. "I know I'm neglecting you, darlin', but this is just too good. I'll take care of you, never fear." He lifted, and dropped the other testicle into the hot, liquid embrace, then resumed frigging himself.

A moment later, Mulder felt the globe of flesh in his mouth contract. At the same time Ethan cried out, his body jerking, and Mulder felt hot drops of sperm on his face and in his hair.

Ethan moved off of him, saying, "The hotel is going to want to slap a surcharge on the bill for cleaning the upholstery, but fuck them." He got the handkerchief out of Mulder's blazer pocket and used it to wipe his lover, then himself.

Mulder pulled his legs up to stretch out on the couch, and said, "Con, you promised."

Ethan grinned at him. "Promised what, boyo?"

Fox squirmed, thrusting his wavering, needy prick at thin air, and whined, "Please, Con!"

"What do you want, Danny boy?"

"Suck me."

Connor cocked his head. "No."

"Con!"

Ethan got the condom and lube out of his discarded trousers. "I didn't get to use these. I think I will now."

"Well, all right, if you think you can get it up again this quickly, but DO something."

Ethan clucked chidingly as he opened the lube and squeezed some out onto his fingers. "Not very diplomatic, Danny. Particularly seeing that I have your hands tied, and can do any fucking thing I please with you."

"I don't care! Just fuck me, okay?"

"No."

"CON!"

To Mulder's astonishment, Ethan bent slightly at the waist, reached behind himself, and slid his hand into the crease of his ass. "Let me rephrase that, Danny. I'm going to fuck you, but not like you think."

"I don't believe this," Mulder whispered. Ethan had turned, and he watched as his lover slid two greased fingers into his hole and worked them industriously, loosening and opening the muscular ring. "I do not fucking BELIEVE this!" A third finger had joined the first two, and Ethan grunted as he fucked them in and out.

Satisfied that he was open enough, Ethan opened the condom and rolled it down over Mulder's stiff prick. "Well, Danny, if you won't believe your eyes, maybe you'll believe your cock." Ethan climbed back on the couch, straddling Mulder's hip on his knees. He reached behind him and took hold of his lover's prick with one hand, spreading his own buttocks with the other, and moved back slowly till he felt the latex covered head nudge against his anus.

"Untie me!" Mulder demanded. "Untie me, and I'll do it right."

"No, Danny. I told you, I'M going to fuck YOU." Ethan sank back, mouth falling open as he impaled himself on Fox's hot, thick erection. "Oh, yes," he hissed, as it scraped over his prostate. "You see, Danny..." He sank back till he was sitting on Fox's crotch, the other man's prick completely engulfed. "This way I can have it exactly like I like it. I can control the depth, the speed, the strength. I'M fucking YOU." And he proceded to demonstrate, rising and falling slowly.

*Shit, he's right. He's fucking me, even if I'm the one with his cock up someone's ass.* It was incredible, the tight, hot grip sliding up and down his hard-on, but he wanted to participate, not feel so helpless.

When he tried to buck his pelvis up, Ethan put his hands on Mulder's hips, pinning him to the sofa, and continued his slow, teasing pace. "No ya don't, Danny. You just lay there and take it, pretty boy. Let Daddy fuck you THIS way."

Mulder raised his head and thumped it back with frustration. Anyone who didn't believe it was possible to top while being fucked in the ass was sadly mistaken. Ethan was in complete control. He continued the slow glide, adjusting the angle and depth of penetration to his his hot spot on every pass. Mulder tried to wiggle, tried to push up, but Ethan held firm, and he ended up cursing.

Without touching himself, Ethan began to get hard again, blood rushing to fill tissues, his prick slowly inflating. Mulder watched in astonishment. "I don't believe it. I don't fucking BELIEVE it!"

"What will it take to convince you, Danny?" Ethan sank back on him, taking his prick as deeply as he could. Then he squeezed with his internal muscles, gritting his teeth in concentration. Despite his hold, Mulder's back arched. Ethan circled his hips, making grinding motions as he continued squeezing, and Mulder came with a howl, trembling helplessly.

While he still shuddered, Ethan dismounted and quickly rifled Mulder's pants pockets, coming up with another condom and the discarded lubricant. Panting and stunned, Mulder watched as he rolled the rubber onto his hard-on, then coated it thickly with the slippery gel. "You won't," Mulder gasped.

"When will you learn?" Ethan flipped the squirming Mulder onto his stomach, climbed on top of him, and entered him with one hard stab. Fox cried out. Even as relaxed as he was. the rough, sudden intrusion hurt. But the pain was secondary to the pleasure. Ethan fucked him hard and fast, pounding into the almost painfully tight flesh.

It was too soon for Mulder to get hard again, but the aggressive thrusts coaxed a few more dribbles of come from his softening cock as he moaned and whimpered in pleasure. Ethan pumped with almost vicious strokes. "You're mine, Danny. Body..."

"Yes, Con." It was a sob.

"heart..."

"Yes, oh, yes! I love you!"

"and soul." The last thrust took him over the edge, and he spewed his seed into the tight latex glove, thinking vaguely, *We're both getting blood tests when this is over. I am GOING to fuck him bareback, I swear.*

When it was done Ethan stripped off both of the condoms and took them into the bathroom for disposal. He returned with a warm, wet towel, and cleaned his lover and himself. Then he sat on the sofa, lifting Fox up onto his lap.

"Untie me?" Mulder's voice was tiny.

"Not just yet."

"All right." It was Daniel's acceptance, Ethan knew. Fox Mulder would have insisted, blasphemously if necessary, on being released.

Ethan held Fox, burying his face first in the agent's sweat dampened hair, then against his throat. Fox sighed dreamily, rubbing his cheek against Ethan's when the younger man looked at him questioningly. "I love you, Con."

"I love you, too, Danny."

They sat like that for awhile before Ethan untied Fox and they both went to bed, to hold each other through the night. And both of them were wondering when they would be able to speak those same words, but use their own names.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 30

Author's Notes: The use of the terms mestizo, peon, and peasant are to reflect the class conscious views of the characters. They do not reflect the author's personal feelings. Esposa: spouse, wife.

* * *

Montana occasionally required Manuel to act as his valet, but not always. Still, Manuel took particular care with Olivero that night. Montana was in a dark mood, even after the good sex in the car, and Manuel very much wanted to take his mind off of whatever had caused this moodiness. He coddled his master even more than usual. Each button was undone with meticulous care, each inch of uncovered skin stroked and kissed. When he was nude, Manuel urged him into the bed and gave him a slow, sensuous massage, ending by gently fellating him.

After spilling his seed for the second time that night, Olivero pulled Manuel up into his arms and fell asleep, holding his smaller lover in his sleep as a child might hold a favorite toy. Relieved and contented, Manuel rested against his broad chest.

It was the American who had brought about this edginess, he knew. He had come to recognize the type of man who could do this to his Olivero, the kind who drew out his passion in sometimes savage ways. It was a clearly defined type: physically they were Anglos with brown hair and light eyes, tall, lean, and handsome. But though there were a few exceptions in appearance, they were always much more similar in character. They were all from 'old families', socially prominent, well-bred, exclusively educated. They were flirtatious, confident, generally pleased with themselves, and a bit condescending to the rest of the world. Daniel Ballard seemed to fit this image perfectly.

Manuel drifted off to sleep wondering what it was in Olivero's past that had brought him to be so fixated on this one, almost iconic, type...

******************************************************

"Olivero, change your shirt."

Olivero stopped chewing his piece of bread (that and coffee were all they ever had for breakfast), and glanced down at the coarse, dun colored shirt that constitued approximately a fifth of his entire wardrobe. "Why?" It was clean, not that it mattered. They were going into the fields as usual today. It would be streaked with dirt and fragrant with sweat before they got home.

Margarite Montana frowned at her son. "The boss will be by with his new missus today."

Olivero shrugged, broad shoulders straining the shirt that was at least a size too small. He had outgrown it months ago, but his father had made it clear that he would have to provide his own clothing now that he was sixteen. Since his father also demanded a portion of his pitiful wages to cover room and board, that didn't leave much for new clothes. "So? The other shirt is just the same."

His father, pouring a third cup of coffee (Damn, the man drank so much that he should get a commission from the plantation owner for his support) snapped, "Don't argue with your mama, boy, and don't be stupid." Olivero felt himself beginning to flush. His father used that word, 'stupid', far too freely. "She means your good shirt, and you know it."

Now Olivero paused in his meager meal, putting down the crust. His good shirt? His one good, untorn, carefully reserved cotton shirt? The one that he wore to church on Sundays, and to the festivals? Wear THAT to sweat and grub in the fields? "No."

Luis Montana, Olivero's father, had married a woman who had more Anglo blood in her than most of the women in the area, but was himself unmistakably Mestizo, and mostly Indian, at that. His strapping son had inherited his size from some distant ancestor on his mother's side, and his hair and eyes from his father. His skin was a smooth olive that fell somewhere between his mother's paleness and his father's copper. When Luis flushed in anger, like now, his complexion was liverish. "Boy, you dare defy me?"

Olivero studied his father coldly. He had taken his share of beatings in the past. Finally he had come to the conclusion that there was no point in fighting the older man when there was no chance that he could win, and he had practiced sullen obedience. Luis had accepted it without question. It never occured to him that the boy was just biding his time till he was a physical match for his father. In the last couple of years, despite his heavy daily labors, Luis had gotten a little soft. He drank too much and ate more of the starch-heavy foods his wife fixed than he needed. Olivero, on the other hand...

Olivero had been growing. His father had forced him into the fields to work when he was twelve. There wasn't much money left after Luis took what he considered his due (always reminding the scowling boy that he could easily take all of it, as many parents did), and he made the contribution to the church that his mother insisted on. What was left, Olivero did not spend on candy, like most children his age. He didn't even spend it on the movies (all of them years old) that found their way to the single cinema a shopkeeper had set up in an abandoned storeroom. He spent his money on protein: meat, which he cooked himself on a fire out on the edge of the fields, away from the house. If he had brought it home, it would have found its way into his father's belly, he knew.

So Manuel had protein on a regular basis, and with the exercise he gained from his daily labors, his body had used it well. He had shot up in the last few years. He was almost six feet tall now, and would be even taller, he knew. No longer skinny, he was filling out. His long legs and stout arms were hard muscled from carrying loads and swinging a machete. While his father had been blindly complacent in his rule of his small family, Olivero had grown into a young man, a young man who would not tolerate the petty tyranny of the man who had sired him much longer.

Olivero finally answered what his father had meant as more of a threat than a question. "Yes."

Luis was so surprised that he let his cup tip, spilling coffee on the bare planks that served as the floor in the one room shack they all shared. "You dare..."

Olivero stood up quickly, so quickly that the rickety wooden chair spilled over backward, barely missing his mother, who squeaked in alarm. "Yes, I dare. The shirt would be ruined, you know this. Why should I wear it? To impress the owner's new bed warmer?" Luis' skin tone was approaching purple. Olivero wondered absently if he could anger his father into having a stroke. He could always hope. "Will she look at us and think 'Oh, what nice clean peons. They must live well, look at how nice their work clothes are'?" He spat on the floor, drawing a distressed cry from his mother. How a woman could be house-proud while living in such a hovel never ceased to amaze him.

Luis took a step toward the boy, hand raised to slap. But Olivero did not step back, as he had in the past. He stood his ground, dark eyes fixed firmly on his father's face. So Luis curled his hand into a fist instead, and waited for his child to back down with proper fear and respect. Instead Olivero took his own step toward his father, and Luis suddenly became aware of how BIG his son had grown. It occured to Luis that if Olivero had been some stranger he had met, he would have been very cautious to remain inoffensive. Because his son did not only look strong, he looked DANGEROUS.

Luis dropped his hand, muttering, "Fine! You're a man now, eh? You can take care of yourself, then. Get out." He waited for the boy to apologize and beg for another chance.

Instead Olivero went over to the corner of the shack where he stored his meager belongings and began to stuff the few items into a canvas sack. He could hear his mother whispering frantically to his father, and the older man's grunting responses. Mama wanted Luis to make some effort to keep him here, but Luis' pride was hurt. *Pride. Like that dog has anything to be proud of.*

Finally he heard his mother muttered something about a paycheck, and his father made a small sound of dismay. His back turned, Olivero smiled coldly. *Yes, you forgot about that, didn't you? You won't have what I bring in any more.* He started to stuff the thin blankets that made up his only bed into the bag.

"Leave those," his father said gruffly. Olivero glanced back at him, then cinched the drawstring tight and knotted it. "Did you hear me?" His father raised his voice. "I said leave those! You didn't pay for them..."

Olivero turned and was back across the room in a few swift strides. He was so quick and came so close that his father moved back till he hit the wall. His son moved in still closer, till his flat belly pressed against the rounded one of the older man. "I didn't pay for them? No? I think I did. You've been taking two-thirds of anything I earned for the last four years, and don't give me that shit about how I owe it to you for all the money and care you put into raising me. We both know you gave as little of both as you could, and that only so I would grow up to bring in more money by my sweat. I could have gone on in school, I'm smart enough. A little work, and I could have had a scholarship, or I could have earned my tuition. But no, you wanted me in the fields, earning. Well, Padre, you can learn things in the world as well as in the classroom. I've learned. I've learned that I don't need you."

His father's mouth worked silently. Finally he said hoarsely, "Get out, ungrateful dog! Never come here again." He yelped as Olivero suddenly grabbed his throat in one hand and his shirt in the other, lifting him up on tiptoe. The grip on his throat wasn't quite enough to close off his wind, but Luis could sense the strength behind it, quivering and barely leashed in his son's big, tense body. He very wisely did not speak or struggle.

Olivero's voice was soft and chilly. "If I am a dog, Padre, what does that make you? You sired me." He gave the smaller man a quick shake, then dropped him. Picking up his dufflebag he dropped an absent kiss on his sobbing mother's forehead. "Don't worry about me, Mama. I'll do fine." Although he knew it was futile, he instructed, "Don't let the bastard work you any harder to make up for losing my pay."

Olivero left the rough, tiny building that had been the only home he had ever known without a backward glance. He wasn't really leaving behind anything he was going to miss. It still wasn't quite daylight, though there was a misty, grey light that made it just possible to make out where he was going. He walked quickly. His destination was several miles down the road, but his long legs made quick work of the distance.

He arrived at a small cluster of shacks almost identical to the one he had left, and knocked at the door of one of them. A grubby towel hanging over one glassless window lifted, and a suspicious face peered out. The face disappeared, and a moment later the door was opened by a young man a few years older than Olivero.

Bartolo eyed his friend, taking in the canvas bag, and grunted. "So. You finally did it, eh?" Olivero nodded. "Did you kill him?"

Olivero shrugged. "It didn't seem worth the effort."

Bartolo thought about this for a minute, then nodded and stepped aside, letting Olivero in. Olivero dumped his bag in a corner and sat down at a table that was just as rickety as the one in the home he had just left. Bartolo pushed a half loaf of dark bread toward him and Olivero broke off a chunk. As he began to eat, his friend said, "So, you staying?"

"How much?"

Bartolo named a figure significantly lower than what his father had demanded. "And you buy food every other week."

"Okay." Olivero pointed at a rough partition that screened off a small section of the room, cocking his head questioningly.

Bartolo grinned. "I knew you would be here, sooner or later." He shrugged. "Or some other who got sick of living at home. That," he said proudly, "Is the bedroom."

Olivero got up and went to look. The entrance was only an open space, no door, frame, or curtain. But inside there was a mattress on the floor. An actual, store bought mattress, even if it was old, stained, and bleeding stuffing. Most of the workers in this area made do with sacks stuffed with grass and leaves. Such a mattress, even a second or third hand one, was a luxury.

He looked back at Bartolo, who grinned. "Whichever one of us brings a girl home can have a little privacy."

Olivero grunted. He didn't really need the privacy. His mother had not allowed his father to send him outside when they made love, fearing that one of the great cats who still occasionally roamed the area, snatching pets and unwary children, would carry him off. Also the young girls, and some of the not so young ones, had been showing him a good bit of attention the last two years. He was well acquainted with sex. The idea of having someone else watch him while he did it did not bother him. The idea of watching others while they enjoyed themselves was DESIRABLE.

He looked at Bartolo and said, "What if I want to bring home a man?"

Bartolo had a cup of coffee halfway to his lips, and he paused, mouth hanging open as he regarded his friend. This was a surprise. True, Olivero had never confided much in him, but he knew for a fact that more than one girl had gone with the big man into the fields and returned with a dreamy smile, walking stiffly. It had never occurred to him that Olivero might be interested in both sexes. He considered his friend's bulk, remembered a few fights he had witnessed, and gave a mental shrug. It wasn't wise to express disapproval of someone like Montana. "Bring a sheep if you like, as long as it's housebroken."

A few minutes later the two young men walked out to the road and down to the spot where the plantation trucks would pick up the workers for transportation to their various jobs. Several dozen men of all ages, from younger than Olivero to grizzled old men, squatted or stood, talking softly and smoking as they waited. All of the men, he noted, were wearing clothes that would have been considered casual in among the middle class. Here they were the best each had. Even Bartolo was wearing a rather hideous pink shirt. The still stiff collar contrasted grotesquely with the grime that was engrained on his neck.

Olivero had asked him about it, and he had said sheepishly that he heard that the boss would be looking for a one or two workers to tend the grounds around his house. It would pay better than being a common laborer, and the work, though hard, would still be much easier than that in the field.

His father was among the group. Luis glared at his son. When Olivero did not drop his eyes, his father looked away and began talking loudly to a confused friend about the ingratitude of children. Soon three battered pickup trucks came rattling up the road and stopped.

The supervisor, very proud in his clean white shirt began making assignments: so many to clear more land, so many to plant seedlings, so many to cultivate and tend the budding plants. The coffee cherries, small and green, had appeared about four months ago and were swelling toward ripeness. Already some of them were beginning to show a faint reddish tinge. In another few weeks it would be time for the first picking, then all the men would be needed to harvest.

Olivero was assigned to help with the seedlings. The greenhouses were close to the owner's house, within easy sight of it. Olivero looked at it as he climbed out of the back of the truck with the other men. He'd seen it a few times before, slipping quietly through the trees to observe it from their shelter. It was, perhaps, not a mansion, but it would have been considered large even in a more developed area. He'd talked to one of the girls who cleaned it. There were more than twenty rooms, and FIVE bathrooms. Imagine that. Olivero had never relieved himself inside a building unless it was in a pot, the contents to be emptied outside at the first possible moment. The concept was fascinating.

*I will have a house like that someday,* he thought. There was no real envy in this musing. Why should he envy someone something when he would have the same or better later on?

In the greenhouse the gardener, Diaz, gathered the men around him and showed them how to transfer the delicate seedlings from their growing beds into the canvas sacks that would be used to transport them. "You wet the sack first--the roots must be kept moist for the trip. Then you loosen the soil CAREFULLY, gently. At least this far, all around the plant, and this deep. Then you pull slowly, carefully, wiggling. If there is resistance, you stop and loosen some more..."

It was made very clear that if any of the plants were damaged, the cost of replacing them would be docked from the careless one's salary. Several of the men looked reluctant about beginning the task once they heard this, but there really wasn't any choice. You did what you were assigned, or there was no pay. And jobs weren't all that easy to come by--well, LEGITIMATE jobs.

The other men worked slower than they needed to, trying to preserve their good clothes. Olivero, not having that worry, simply went about the task at hand. He scooped damp earth into burlap sacks, loosened plants, settled the seedlings carefully into the transport bundle, and tied them up gently, but securely. He was accomplishing a good third more than any of the others. The old gardener watched him work, nodding in approval.

They worked steadily till it was almost lunch time. The truck had already made several trips out to the newly cleared and cultivated fields, delivering the seedlings to the men who would plant them. As he loaded the last of the bundles into the back of the truck, Diaz came to Olivero. "You. You are Montana's boy?"

Olivero wiped a bit of mud off on his shirt, shaking his head. "Yes, I am Olivero de la Montana, but I am not Luis Montana's boy. I am my own man."

The gardener studied him for a moment, then nodded in understanding. "You work well at this, Montana. You are not afraid to get your hands dirty, but you have a light touch with the plants. Would you be interested in working here?"

Olivero did not hesitate. "Yes." *Out of the fields? Hell, yes. And my old man will choke when he hears.*

"Good. It is not certain, you understand. The owner has final approval, and I hear that his new woman rules him. But they will listen to my suggestion, I think. Come with me on this last trip. They are out touring the plantation, and we should run into them."

So Olivero went with Diaz and they drove out to the field that had been designated for the new planting. When they arrived, they saw that they had timed the delivery well. There were only a few seedlings left beside the field, waiting to be nestled into the earth. The reason that they were still unplanted was apparent.

A large, expensive car was pulled to the side of the road, engine idling, and the workers had gathered near it. A man and woman were standing by the car, speaking with the supervisor. Olivero recognized the man immediately as the plantation's owner: a florid man in his late fifties.

He was one of the old money Colombian families. His ancestors had come over from Europe generations ago and founded their dynasties. But according to the rumors, he had married an American. He had apparently done what so many of his peers had done: gone looking outside this social circle for a wife. It was a good idea, Olivero thought. The local upper crust had become a bit incestuous in the last few decades.

The truck stopped behind the group of workers. Diaz went to stand at the back, watching the three oblivious people near the car. Olivero, not too terribly interested, lowered the tailgate and began to unload the bundled seedlings. He only paused and looked around when he heard a soft whirring sound that he couldn't identify.

The rear window of the car was sliding down slowly. When it was fully down, the sound stopped, and Olivero realized that it had been the sound of the window being lowered electrically. He had heard of such things, but never seen them. A voice floated out of the shadowed interior of the car. "Mom." Olivero smiled to himself. It was the voice of a bored child. So, the owner had acquired a family at the same time he acquired a wife. The voice came again, more impatient. "Mom!"

The woman went to the car. "What is it, Duncan?"

"I'm bored and I'm hungry. When are we going home?"

"Soon. Why don't you get out? You haven't really been able to see a thing from in there."

"I don't want to. It's hot."

She frowned, and there was a touch of steel in her voice. "This is your home now, and you can at least take an interest in it. Get out of the car and try to act like a reasonably well-bred young man instead of a brat."

"Fine!" The door of the car opened. Olivero watched in surprise as a tall slender figure extracted itself from the back seat, then slammed the door. "Happy?"

"Duncan, you are being insufferable." The woman returned to the two men, making polite noises.

Duncan, obviously her son, slouched against the car, scowling. He looked as if he owned the world, and was very displeased with the way it was being run. Olivero continued working, but he couldn't help glancing at the young man now and then. He was older than Olivero had expected from the petulant tone, at least fifteen, perhaps more. He was almost as tall as Olivero, but his body was reed slender where Olivero was broad and sturdy. His hair was dark brown, but the sun would catch bright glints in it as he turned his head.

The boy scanned the crowd of workers, his expression mildly disdainful. His gaze passed over Olivero, and Olivero suddenly wished that it had lingered a little longer. But, after all, it was hardly likely that a smooth, moneyed boy like that would find anything of interest in a rough laborer on his new father's plantation. He continued with his work.

Soon he had to climb up into the bed of the truck to get to the plants that were at the back. He spent several moments arranging them so that they would be easier to transport, and was startled when a soft voice behind him said, "Hey."

He turned, a seedling cradled in each arm, to find the boy standing at the tailgate, looking up at him. "Si?"

The boy frowned. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes, I speak English."

The boy studied the burlap wrapped bundles. "What are you doin'?"

"I am unloading the seedlings. They must be planted quickly, before the roots have a chance to dry out."

The boy frowned, then looked at the crowd of men. "Then why aren't they helpin' you? Why are you doin' it by yourself?"

Olivero shrugged, walking to the back of the truck. He nodded toward the trio. "That is your mother, yes? The padrone's new esposa?" The boy looked confused. "His wife?"

The boy made a sour face. "Yeah. He's my new step."

Now Olivero was puzzled. "Step?"

Duncan smiled, and Olivero was suddenly enchanted. It lit up the boy's face. He had been attractive when he was pouting, but the smile made him look positively radiant. "Guess you don't know English as well as you could, and I don't know Spanish as well as I might." The voice was fascinating, too. He had an accent which made his speech slow and drawling. "Step, as in stepfather. My Mom's second husband."

"Step. The men, they are paying their respects to him, and to her."

"But you're still workin'. Does that mean that you don't respect them?"

Olivero considered the young man carefully. Somehow he did not think that Duncan would be terribly upset if Olivero DIDN'T respect his parents. "Someone must work, or the seedlings will suffer."

The smile became impish. "Oh, now THAT'S an answer that isn't an answer, but it really answers the question quite well. Perhaps you don't quite have a grasp on the finer points of slang, but you know how to use the language."

Olivero stepped off the tailgate, landing lithely less than a foot from the boy. Duncan drew in a sharp breath, but didn't move. He was a an inch or two shorter than Olivero, and had to look up at him. *Gold* Olivero thought. *He has gold eyes, like the jaguar.* In this land of dark hair and dark eyes, Olivero had never seen hazel eyes before. Everything about Duncan seemed exotic and rich. Olivero looked down into those golden eyes and said quietly, "Not everything is learned in the schoolroom."

The boy gazed up at him, eyes wide. He ran his tongue nervously over a bottom lip that looked full, plush. He would look like he was pouting, even in the best of moods. Olivero followed the passage of the moist pink tip, then looked back into the boy's eyes, not bothering to conceal the heat in his gaze.

He was tempted to drop the seedlings, grab Duncan, and drag him up against his body, soiling that white skin with the mud that stained his own clothes and letting him feel the hard, hot bulge that was growing at his crotch. He thought about kissing him, biting that sulky lower lip, sucking a patch as dark as wine on the skin of his throat. He thought of bending him over the lowered tailgate, lowering his neatly pressed trousers, and fucking him there in the open air, under the glaring sun.

The boy swallowed. His voice husky, he said, "My... my name is Duncan Broussard."

Olivero inclined his head slightly. "Olivero de la Montana."

Duncan smiled again, with a touch of shyness. "Your name sounds like a Spanish Grandee's."

"No, senor. I am a simple peon."

One dark eyebrow raised. "Somehow I hardly think that you are simple, Olivero."

"Duncan!"

Annoyance flashed in his expression as he looked back at his mother. "What?"

"Duncan, what are you doing?"

*Talking to that dirty peasant.* Olivero mentally supplied the part of the sentence that was left unsaid.

"You wanted me to take an interest in my new home, didn't you? Well, that's what I'm doin'."

"That's good, but I don't want you wandering off like that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mother!" He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head in irritation. "It isn't like I'm some two-year-old, now is it?"

"You don't know this area, Duncan." Her eyes drifted to the large young man standing so near her son, and her eyes narrowed. "You don't know what sort of dangers are lurking. Now come over here."

Duncan looked at Olivero and rolled his eyes expressively. Then he jerked his head invitingly toward the car and started back. Without hesitation Olivero deposited the seedlings and followed him.

The new bride did not look pleased when she saw the worker following her son, but she didn't say anything. Diaz, the gardener, had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and now spoke diffidently to the owner. "Senor, if I might? You asked me to choose helpers to care for the greenhouses and the grounds around your home."

"Yes, that's right," he agreed. He beamed at his wife. "I haven't bothered much with the lawns and garden before, but I want to keep it pretty for my beautiful lady. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Si, senor." Diaz beckoned to Olivero, who came to stand beside him. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is Olivero. I have watched him. He listens to instructions, and works hard."

The woman was eyeing him with distaste. "He's very rough looking."

"Well, what do you expect, Mother?" snapped Duncan. "He WORKS. Do you think he's going to have a manicure? Do you expect him to be wearing a formal shirt and a cummerbund while he's planting trees?" He spoke directly to his stepfather for the first time that day. "You ought to hire him, John. I've been watching him. You might have noticed that he's the ONLY person who's really been working. He wasn't just standing around admiring the view--he was getting things done."

John looked at his stepson with not a little surprise. Then he looked at the young man in question. He was rough, yes, but that was to be expected. He was, after all, a mestizo, and a common laborer. But he was big, and strong, and there was a gleam of sharp intelligence in his eyes that was rare in the locals.

He nodded. "That's two recommendations. I suppose that's enough. Well, Olivero, do you want to come work at the house?"

Olivero's eyes shifted to Duncan, standing just behind his mother. He gazed once again into the gilded depths of his eyes and said quietly, "Yes, senor. I want that very much."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 31: Reminiscing

Manuel and Olivero stood outside the hotel room, and Olivero gave a brisk, but polite rap. When there was no answer, he knocked again. They could hear a voice inside call out, "Jesus, Danny, will ya get that?"

"Why can't you?"

"Because I'm peeing, and it isn't polite to answer the door with your dick in your hand, ya idjet."

They heard someone moving closer. "Maybe not, but more people would feel truly welcome if it were." The door opened. Daniel, fully dressed but with his hair still sleep-tousled, leaned against the frame. "Well, hello. Aren't you two the early birds? It's...," he consulted a handsome watch. "Good God, it's not even eight yet."

"I should have warned you that we would need to leave early, but we must if we are to arrive at my compound before lunch."

Mulder didn't seem inclined to move. "Couldn't we eat on the way?"

"This is not America, Daniel. We do not have a McDonald's every few miles."

Mulder made a face. "It's just as well. I outgrew those places about the time Daddy upped my allowance." At Olivero's questioning look he smiled and added, "My biological daddy."

Ethan came out of the bathroom. "Who was...? Oh, for heaven's sake! Danny, move your ass and let them come in."

"Whatever you say, Con." Said ass was given an extra sway as he moved back into the room, allowing the visitors to enter.

As he moved close to his lover, Ethan swatted his butt. "Go comb your hair. You look like a slut."

The older man gasped in feigned shock. "NO! Really?"

As Fox went in the bedroom, Ethan shook his head. "I love him, but he's such a brat sometimes."

Olivero's eyes followed Mulder. Through the open doorway he could be seen standing at the dresser mirror, carefully arranging his hair. "Yes, but the spoiled little boys can be very appealing, can't they?"

~~~~  
Twenty years earlier.  
~~~~

That next morning Olivero bought his lunch from the rickity panel van that stopped at the spot where the men gathered each morning. It was loaded with simple, cheap food to sell to the men who had no woman to prepare their meals, and it did a brisk business. Olivero bought his usual fare, but more of it. And, in celebration, he spluged on one of the packages commercially prepared snack cakes instead of the usual banana for dessert. There were mutters about what was viewed as his extravagance, but he ignored them grandly. He was master of his own finances now, and no one could tell him how to spend them. There would be time enough for frugality later: today he wanted to indulge himself.

Diaz found Olivero waiting outside the greenhouse when he arrived the next day, just after dawn. The young man stood up as the old gardener approached, and Diaz reflected with satisfaction that he would not have to do all the heavy work himself any more. The boy was an ox. *In body,* Diaz thought, watching Olivero's eyes. *He's sharp, though, even if he doesn't show it. And that's clever, too. The bosses don't trust a peon who's too smart.*

Olivero spent the morning moving wheelbarrows full of soil from a churned-up patch at the edge of the forest into the greenhouse and packing it into seeding trays. At noon Diaz called him to the front. "Lunch time. Did you bring food?" Olivero nodded, getting a small cloth bag off a shelf by the door. "From now on you do not need to bring it. They will provide a meal, and we can eat in the kitchen. It is air-conditioned." He grinned as Olivero tried not to look interested. Living in this area it was doubtful the boy had ever actually felt air conditioning unless he had made a trip to a city.

They went to the back of the house and entered the kitchen. Olivero gasped as the chilled air struck him. After the heat outside the sweat cooling on his skin made it seem almost frigid. The cook, a fat mestizo woman, greeted Diaz warmly and gave Olivero a speculative look as she was introduced. She provided them with glasses of iced tea, and they sat at the table while she fixed a sandwich for Diaz.

"So, Luisa, how do you like your new mistress?" Diaz asked.

Luisa snorted. "She makes me tired. My cooking has been fine for the senor for more than ten years. Now this milk face comes and nothing is right. I use too much spice, I use too much grease. Must we have beans so often?" She sighed heavily, setting the plate before Diaz. "I think she will try to have him fire me so she can bring in one who is as pale as herself."

"I like your cookin', Luisa." They looked up to find Duncan Broussard in the doorway, smiling at them. He came over and planted a kiss on the now giggling woman's brow, having to lean down to do it. "An' you're right, she IS lookin' for a reason to dismiss you. Too much spice an' grease an' beans my butt. We come from N' Orleans, an' she's eaten plenty of all three, I can tell you. You got somethin' for me to eat, pretty lady?"

"You shouldn't talk about your Mama that way, Senor Duncan." The words were a reprimand, but the tone was amused. "Of course I have food for you. Go to the dining room and I will bring it."

"I don't wanna eat in there all by myself." Diaz and Luisa looked mildly scandalized as Duncan dragged out the chair next to Olivero and dropped down into it.

Luisa said hesitantly, "Senor, your Mama said..."

"She's not here, Luisa. She's off shoppin'. Again." Duncan turned to Olivero and said conversationally. "That's somethin' my Mama is REAL good at: spendin' someone else's money. Ask any one of my former daddies." He gave Luisa another charming smile. "How about that grub, Luisa? I'm tryin' to be polite, here, but my belly is about to make some real rude noises." Luisa started fixing a sandwich, and Duncan turned his attention back to Olivero. "Hi."

Montana nodded. "Good day, Senor."

"Oh, please, don't go callin' me that. I'm not old enough for a title yet. Call me Duncan." He flicked a glance at the two adults, who were watching this exchange. "You, too. Please. At least when Mom and the step aren't around." He looked back at the young man beside him. "Olivero, right?" Olivero nodded again. "De la Montana. The Spanish grandee. What you been up to this mornin', Olivero?"

"I have been bringing soil to the greenhouse."

"Hard work?"

"Not as hard as some I have done." Olivero cut a chunk off the sausage he was eating.

Daniel eyed it curiously. "What's that?"

"Just a local sausage. Cow and pig."

"Beef and pork," Duncan corrected.

"As you say. Many peppers. It is very spicy."

"Can I try some?"

Olivero said softly, "It is peasant food, Duncan. Very strong, very simple. I do not think it would suit you."

Duncan gave him a crooked smile. "You goin' to presume you know my tastes? I happen to like things a little crude. So, can I have some?"

Olivero sliced a bit off the sausage and offered it to Duncan, holding it on the blade. Instead of taking it in his fingers, Duncan leaned over and delicately lifted it from the blade with his teeth.

He started to chew. Olivero had to force down a smile when the boy's eyes flew wide open in surprise. He finished chewing quickly, swallowed, and grabbed Montana's glass of tea, hastily gulping down half of it. There was laughter in Montana's voice. "I warned you it was too hot for you."

Duncan fanned himself with his hand. "Oh, no, you don't understand. That's just how I like it: hot and not too refined." His golden eyes were fixed on Olivero's face as he said this.

Diaz sighed to himself as he ate. He wondered how long he was going to be able to keep his new helper. Not long if the boy's mother found out the game he was playing. Surely she must know by now? It wasn't as if the boy was making a great effort to disguise his interest.

Diaz finished his meal quickly, and arose. "I want to finish looking at that catalogue that came in yesterday. Olivero, when you are done, spread fertilizer on the vegetables. Evenly, mind you, but not enough to smother the plants."

He left, and Luisa took a sheet of paper from a cork board on the wall. "I must have one of the men take me to town for supplies. Will you be all right, Senor Duncan?"

Duncan cast a despairing glance at Olivero, but did not call her on the title. "Just show me where the cookies are before you go."

"Senor Duncan, there are no cookies. Your Mama has said you eat too many sweets."

"What?" He was outraged. "That is utter nonsense, Luisa!" His voice was wheedling. "You must have SOME sort of dessert around here."

She pointed to a fruit bowl on the table. "Apples, bananas, pears..."

"Luisa, I said DESSERT, not roughage." She shrugged, confused. "Oh, all right! Go on." His voice was pettish. Duncan slumped in his chair, arms crossed, scowling. She left, shaking her head.

Olivero casually picked up his lunch sack and emptied it. A slightly squashed package of chocolate cupcakes fell out onto the table. Duncan's eyes zeroed in on them as Olivero dropped the sack and began eating a small piece of cheese.

Duncan reached out and touched the cellophane with one fingertip. It crinkled faintly. He noticed Olivero watching him, and withdrew his hand. "I didn't know they had these over here."

"I think they are like the Coca Cola: there are not many places on earth they have not reached." Olivero continued eating. Duncan was ignoring his half-finished sandwich, staring at the snack cakes as if mesmerized. Finally Olivero took the package and unwrapped it carefully, setting the cupcakes down in their little white cardboard tray. He peeled one up and ate it slowly, taking several more bites than he needed to. *Ask me, Chico,* he thought. *Ask for what you want.*

As he was reaching for the last cupcake Duncan said, "Can I have some of that?"

"It would be a sacrifice, Duncan." He gave the boy a level stare. "I like sweets."

"Please?" Duncan smiled. He'd gotten a lot out of life with that smile, and he saw no reason why it shouldn't get him that cupcake. He'd expected Olivero to cave in and push the little paper tray toward him. He was disappointed when instead he picked up the cake himself. *I must be losin' my touch.*

But then Olivero scooted his chair closer to Duncan and reached toward him with his free hand. Duncan stiffened as the warm, slightly rough palm closed over the back of his neck, holding him. Olivero leaned closer and brought the pastry to Duncan's lips. Duncan stared at him, surprised almost to the point of astonishment. People just didn't TOUCH each other like this in his circles.

Olivero's voice was like his touch: warm and rough. "Don't you want it, Duncan?"

"Yes." When he spoke, his lips brushed the cake, leaving a smear of chocolate on his mouth. Instinctively he licked it off.

Olivero grinned at him and pressed the cake more firmly against his lips. "Then take it."

Duncan took a bite. Sweetness flooded his mouth, making it fill quickly with saliva. He chewed, hardly aware of the contrasting textures of the pasty icing and crumbly cake. All he was really aware of was the touch on the back of his neck and the dark eyes of the man feeding him.

The interior of the now broken cake was filled with foamy white cream. Watching Olivero, Duncan flicked out his tongue, capturing a blob of the sugary white fluff. When he saw the heat in Olivero's eye he did it again. Soon he was slowly licking the cake, probing into the crevices in search of the last speck of cream. Then he finished the rest of the cake in dainty nibbles.

Olivero had begun to massage the back of his neck. Duncan's eyes half closed in pleasure. When the dark smeared fingers touched his lips, Duncan unhesitatingly licked them clean, removing every trace of chocolate.

He waited for Olivero to release him then, but he didn't. Instead his free hand, fingers still damp, touched Duncan's face, tracing his cheekbone. He leaned even closer, and kissed him.

The boy's lips parted easily under Olivero's own, and Montana sent his tongue questing into his hot, moist cavern. Olivero tasted spice and chocolate as he licked deep into Duncan's mouth. For a long moment he explored, finding the taste of Duncan's flesh behind the others.

Suddenly Duncan pulled his head back, pushing at Montana's shoulder, and said breathlessly, "You shouldn't do that."

Montana stared at his flushed face. Then he reached down suddenly, cupping his hand over the mound of Duncan's crotch, molding his fingers over the lump that was beginning to strain at the fly, and whispered, "Such a weak little protest, Duncan. How can I believe you mean it? But I must get back to work now. There will be time later."

He left the kitchen with his own erection pressing against the rough material of his pants. For once he was willing to forgo instant relief. He had decided yesterday that he would have Duncan Broussard, and he wanted to have him at his leisure, when he could take time to savor the experience.

~~~~  
Present Day  
~~~~

Fox came out of the bedroom, tucking his comb in his pocket, to find Olivero watching him with a curiously intense gaze. "What is it? Is my shirt untucked?"

"No. You look wonderful. I was just thinking..."

Fox arched an eyebrow. "Penny for them? Or should that be a peso?"

"It isn't much, and it's rather silly."

"Well, go on. I can usually use a bit of silliness in my life."

"I was remembering last night. Your dessert."

" I had some absolutely sinful chocolate thing."

"Yes. I was only thinking how fond you seem to be of chocolate." When Mulder looked baffled, Olivero shrugged. "Some things are too personal to be explained. I'll ring for the bell hop."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 32: Obsession Grows

It was a different car from the one they had taken the night before. The back had a second seat facing the usual back bench, so that there was room for both of the couples, and there was a blank faced mestizo to do the driving. Manuel, it seemed, only chauffeured in the city.

Ethan and Mulder got into the front facing seat. Manuel sat facing them, and Mulder and Ethan exchanged looks when Olivero sat next to Mulder rather than joining his young lover. "I hope you do not mind," Olivero said as the car started. "but riding backward, it gives me a headache."

"Really? You look like nothing less than a two-by-four could give you a headache, Olivero," Mulder said mildly. Ethan dug a warning elbow into his ribs. "What? It's the truth."

"Do not scold him, Connor. It's flattering."

As they left the city, Connor said, "Your compound, Olivero? Is it close to your fields?"

"Some of them. I have a great deal of land in various areas, but most of the processing is done nearby." He looked at Mulder, then Ethan. "We can wait till we are at the compound to discuss this."

Mulder crossed his arms. "Look, you might as well know right now that I'm not some little fluff to be pushed off to the side while the big, bad men talk business."

"Danny." Ethan's voice was more chiding than irritated.

"No, Connor." He looked at Olivero steadily. "Yes, Connor started his enterprise on his own, and he has final say, but I'm an equal partner. I'm the one who runs the books and keeps the tax services off our asses by making it all look legitimate. It isn't easy to hide the kind of cash flow he has, you know."

Olivero looked at Ethan. "Connor?"

Ethan shrugged. "It's true. I'd have probably been in the nick a long time ago if it wasn't for Danny. He isn't just a pretty face. He has a business degree, and he isn't afraid to use it."

"I never had a chance before. Andrew was a nit. He was convinced that I couldn't have a working brain, since he was fucking me on a regular basis. I don't know if he just assumed that since I bottomed for him I was stupid, or if he thought that he'd fucked my brains out. Anyway, he never let me do anything more complicated than make dinner reservations. I could have increased his profits on his nag farm by twenty per cent, but he told me to shut my mouth unless he had something to stick in it." Mulder's voice had taken on an acid edge.

"He was a foolish man indeed. No, Daniel, you will not be totally cut out of the negotiations, but there will be times I wish to deal with your Connor alone."

Mulder looked slightly mollified. "All right. As long as you don't sell me short. I HATE being underestimated."

"I wouldn't do that, Daniel."

"Good. Now, can we have some music in here?"

"Certainly." Olivero called in Spanish to the driver, and he turned on the radio. Heavy classical music flowed from the speakers, and Mulder rolled his eyes expressively. Another order, and the driver fiddled with the dial. There was a ballad in Spanish, then some horns-heavy jazz.

Finally they hit a station with a bouncy, impertinent rock-n-roll song, and Mulder waved frantically. "Stop! Stop there!" He grinned, starting to sing with the song. "Where have you been hidin' out lately, honey? You can't dress trashy till ya spend a lot of money. Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound..." He broke off, smiling at Olivero. "Billy Joel, the best of the eighties."

Olivero nodded. "Yes. He is very good."

"Oh." Mulder looked surprised. "You know his work? I wouldn't have thought it would have been that popular down here."

Olivero gazed out the window. "I had a friend once who was very fond of him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty years before

Olivero looked up from the near empty wheelbarrow as the door on the other side of the greenhouse opened. Duncan hesitated, then shut the door and began to make his way through the tables and beds toward him. Olivero wanted to just stand still, watching his graceful movements as he approached, but it would not do to show too much interest. He lifted another sack of fertilizer from the flat stack against the wall, shaking it so that the contents settled and allowed him to prop it up. The bags were stacked on a pallet, and were not quite waist high.

Duncan stopped in the aisle, a few feet away. "Hi."

Olivero nodded at him, "Buenos dias, Duncan." He said nothing more, letting the other boy begin to fidget. *You seek me out, Chico. You should know what you want.*

At last Duncan said, "Uh, Diaz went out to check on the seedlings y'all took out yesterday. He said to just finish spreadin' the fertilizer inside the greenhouse, then you could go home."

"Good. I am almost done here." He indicated the large, rectangular object that dangled from Duncan's hand. "What is that?"

"This?" Duncan held it up. "This is my boom box." When Olivero looked politely puzzled he said, "You know, a portable tape player. The sound is really cool. I thought maybe you'd like some music while you work. I know it always helps me when I have some grotty chore to do."

As Duncan cleared a space on a nearby table for the box, Olivero wondered with amusement what possible tasks this pampered young man had ever been assigned? Probably no more than picking his own underwear and socks off the floor. Duncan pulled a few tapes from his pockets, looking at them. "Which do you like? Blondie, or Billy Joel?" Olivero shrugged. He had never heard of either of them. The radios available in the area had a very limited range, and did not pick up American broadcasts, and American rock and roll had not gotten popular on the local stations.

"Okay, then I'll choose." He slipped a tape into the machine, shut it, and pushed the button. "This is good. It's his new one, 'Glass Houses'. I got it just before we left the states." The music was fast and bright. 'You May Be Right.' It seemed to be about a wild boy coaxing someone used to playing it safe into doing things a little more dangerously. "What do you think?"

"Appropriate." Duncan regarded him curiously, not understanding, as he pulled his pocket knife out and opened it, using it to slit the bag open. Olivero noticed Duncan's eyes on the knife and showed it to him. "You like knives?"

"Um, kinda." Duncan reached out hesitantly, laying one fingertip on the flat of the shiny blade. "My last stepdad gave me one once." He grimaced. "Mom took it away. She said I'd hurt myself."

"She doesn't want you playing with dangerous things."

He scowled. "No, she doesn't. Sent me to a damn boarding school 'cause she thought public school would be too rough for me." Olivero folded the knife, and emptied the bag into the wheelbarrow. Duncan watched as he hefted it smoothly and easily. "You're pretty strong from all this work, aren't you?"

"Si." Olivero picked up the shovel and began once again to spread the fertilizer. "The world makes a man hard, or it kills him."

Duncan sighed, watching him. "Well, I guess I might as well just commit suicide before I graduate, then, 'cause I expect the world is gonna kill my ass."

"Not necessarily, Chico. If you cannot defend yourself, there is always an alternative."

"Like what?"

Olivero paused, leaning on the shovel, and smiled at him lazily. "You can find someone to take care of you."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "What? Some rich old lady? I've seen some of Mom's friends with a second or third husband who's about half their age--and POOR."

Olivero started shoveling again. "That isn't what I meant, Chico."

Duncan shifted, obviously wanting to say something, ask a question. But he decided against that. Instead he turned the music up a little louder. The song now was about a fantasy being all you needed sometimes. It, too, was fast and bright. Duncan began to bounce on his heels in time with the rhythm, singing the chorus with it. "It's just a fantasy, it's not the real thing. Sometimes a fantasy is all you need..."

*Foolish,* Olivero thought. *Fantasies can serve only so long. He'll learn that.*

Olivero worked steadily, carefully covering the greenhouse beds with the pungent fertilizer while Duncan continued to listen to the music and watch him work. Gradually the boy moved from bouncing to dancing in the narrow aisle, head bopping from side to side so that his brown hair fell in his eyes and Olivero had to resist the urge to brush it away.

Finally done, he leaned the shovel against the wall and walked the few steps back to Duncan. Reaching past him, he punched the STOP button on the player, and the music cut off suddenly. Duncan stopped moving, looking at him with a hint of annoyance. "Why did you do that? I was dancing."

"Yes, I saw. I know that the senor is busy in his city office today, and you say that the senora is shopping." Duncan nodded. "Luisa has gone to town, and Diaz is out in the field." Duncan nodded again, more slowly this time. "We are alone." The third nod was slower still. "Good." He leaned forward and kissed Duncan.

The boy pulled back with a nervous laugh. "Oh, now, look, a joke's a joke, but..." He had backed away. Olivero followed him, steps slow and deliberate, an almost gentle smile on his face. Duncan twitched. In the kitchen it had been different. It had been bright and cool and clean, with the smell of dish soap in the air. Here...

Here the light that fell through the overhead glass was dim, tinted green by the leaves through which it sifted. It was hot and humid, and he was very aware of what now seemed like the ridiculous layers of clothing he wore. No brisk, clean scent of soap here, either. No, the greenhouse had an earthy aroma, a smell of rich loam and growing things, a peculiarly primitive smell. And Olivero de la Montana seemed very at home here.

The urge to flee was almost overwhelming, but the memory of that kiss in the kitchen held Duncan as the other young man approached. He forced himself to stand still, and lifted his chin in an effort to look casual.

Olivero's smile broadened. "Duncan, you were not teasing me?"

"I... no. Teasing? I didn't... didn't do anything."

His voice was chiding. "Perhaps you said nothing, but there are other ways to make promises." He took hold of the boy's shoulders and kissed him hard. Duncan stiffened, jaws clamped tight shut. It had been one thing to flirt with this rough young man in the safety of the house, but here...

Olivero pulled back a little, murmuring, "Open your mouth." Duncan just stared at him. He put his right hand in Duncan's hair, gripping tightly. "Chico, when I kiss you, you will open your mouth. You will not try to keep me out."

Duncan's eyes were huge, his voice faint. "What makes you think I'm gonna let you kiss me?"

Olivero laughed. "Then fight."

The easy assumption of his compliance irritated Duncan. He kicked, trying to push the bigger boy away, and Olivero hissed in pain as a bruise was laid on his shin, but he did not release his prize. His left arm went around Duncan's waist and he spun him, then walked him backwards till he bumped up against the stack of bags. "So, you're not such a timid little kitten after all, are you? That's good. I like a little spirit in my fucks."

Duncan cried out as Olivero shoved him down on the stack, so that he half lay on it, legs dangling. Before he could pull himself up, Olivero had pulled out his knife, and opened it. Though he made no threatening move with the blade, Duncan fell back and lay still, staring at it, wide-eyed.

Olivero gripped the bottom of Duncan's shirt, stretching it taut. "You like knives." It was a statement now rather than a question. He slid the tip of the blade under the last button. With a flick of his wrist the little disc popped off, and he moved up to the next one, slicing it off. "Yes, Chico, I understand. Knives are very much a man's weapon." He made a short, sharp motion with his hand, and Duncan's breath caught painfully. "The stabbing. Very suggestive, yes?" He cut away the next button. "And a man who uses a knife must be in control, always in control." The fourth button spun away to be lost down between the sacks. Duncan's breathing had become ragged. "One little slip, a fraction of an inch to the left or right..." The fifth button was removed, and the sixth. "But I must be careful. It would be such a shame to mark that pretty white skin."

In quick succession he cut off the last two buttons. Then he put the tip of the blade under Duncan's chin, touching so lightly that the skin was not even dimpled. But when he pressed upward, Duncan lifted his chin quickly, meeting Olivero's dark eyes. "Do not look away from me, Duncan." He made no explicit threat, but Duncan carefully kept his eyes fixed on Olivero when the knife was removed.

Olivero used the blade to flick Duncan's shirt open, exposing his pale, smooth chest, heaving with his heavy breaths. The big man blinked in surprise, then laughed quietly. "Oh, Duncan." He reached out and carefully, lightly scraped the blade over the rigid pink points of Duncan's nipples. The boy moaned deep in his throat, and the already hard flesh stiffened even more.

Olivero closed his knife, putting it away. "So, you're not entirely a virgin?"

Duncan's voice was breathy, almost scornful. "I've been in all-boy schools since I was eleven. What the hell do you think?"

"How much have you done?" Olivero replaced the knife with his hands, sliding his palms over Duncan's chest.

The Anglo boy arched up to his touch. "That depends, I guess. A lot by school standards. I'm not quite the school slut, but I'm close. I don't know how it is compared to the rest of the world, though." Olivero pinched, and he gasped, then cooed. "Oh, that feels good. The other boys always act like I'm gonna break."

"Only boys? No men?" Olivero shoved Duncan's legs apart with his knees so he could move in closer. He bent over the boy and licked one straining pink bud, then bit it roughly.

Duncan whined, closing his eyes. "My... my swim coach. He's old, in his thirties, but he's still hot. I saw the way he watched me at practice, so I stayed after, asked 'im to help me with my stroke." He laughed. "Yeah, he helped me. Different kinda stroke, though. Oh, God, do the other one!"

Olivero obliged, nipping and nibbling, leaving the dent of teeth marks. They would fade in a few moments, since he was just playing. He had spoken the truth when he said he didn't want to mark Duncan. Not yet. "What have you done, Duncan? Tell me." He stripped the shirt off the other boy roughly, tossing it to the floor, then beginning to run his hands over the smaller boy's torso once again. Duncan was sweating, and Olivero's hands glided.

Duncan smiled at him, licking his lips. "You want me to talk dirty? Yeah, I can do that. Mostly it's just been mutual jerk-offs. We have to sneak around and find places at school. The bathroom, an empty classroom. I've sucked a lot of cock in the equipment shed out by the soccer field."

As Duncan spoke, Olivero cupped his hands over Duncan's crotch, squeezing. Duncan grunted, pushing up at his hands. "Keep talking, damn it."

"I... My roommate is a prude, and I can't bring guys there, so I went to another guy's room. His roommate didn't care. I sucked him off while the roommate watched. The roommate kept saying he was straight, but when I finished my friend, and went over and started licking his balls, he changed his mind." Duncan laughed breathlessly. "Kind of a record for me. I blew both of them twice before I left."

Olivero unzipped Duncan's pants and started to jerk both them and his underwear down. "Wait!" Duncan panted. "Hold on, I'll lift my ass, just..." He barely got his butt off the sacks before Olivero tore the garments off them. "Fuck! You're impatient."

Olivero was opening his own pants. "Have you been fucked?"

Duncan paled slightly. "N-no. I thought the coach was gonna, but he freaked when I asked him to put it in. Said the law would cut his nuts off. I... He put his finger in me." His lashes lowered over golden eyes, and he said dreamily, "It felt good." His eyes widened as Olivero pulled out his rigid prick. "You're not wearing underwear."

He sounded so surprised that Olivero would have laughed if he hadn't been so aroused. He dragged Duncan's butt closer to the edge of the stack with a hand on his hip. Gripping his own staff in one hand, he reached down to grasp Duncan's hard-on with the other. "You have such a pretty cock, Chico." He stroked slowly, and the boy writhed sensuously. "Pink and white, like a stick of candy."

Olivero bent swiftly, taking Duncan's cock head into his mouth. Duncan yelped with pleasure as the warm wetness encased him. Olivero cradled the bulbous glans on his tongue, sucking softly, like it was a sweet he wanted to last a long time. Then he rasped his teeth lightly on the sensitive skin just behind the head. When Duncan whimpered he released him to soothe the scraped area with a kiss, then lapped at his prick, delving his tongue into the tiny slit to coax out the first bead of clear liquid.

"Vero!" Duncan gasped. "Let me! I wanna taste you."

Olivero ran his tongue the length of the boy's quivering rod and gave each softly furred ball a sucking kiss. "Ask nicely, Chico."

"PLEASE, Vero! I want to suck your dick. Please."

Montana moved to the side, getting up on the pile of sacks on his knees. Duncan lunged at him, mouth open, and swallowed him to the root in one plunge. Olivero hissed in pleasure, grabbing hold of the thick, soft hair as the boy began to bob on his cock. "Y-es, pretty boy. Ah, I'm a lucky man to have found such a talented little whore."

Duncan pulled off him abruptly, gazing up at Olivero in shock and outraged hurt. "WHAT did you call me?"

"A whore. Why are you upset, sweet one? It is not easy to be a good whore."

"You bastard!" Duncan tried to struggle up. "Where are my pants? Damn it, I don't need to be insulted."

"Hush!" Olivero shoved his shoulders back against the sacks and held him there. "I do not insult you, Duncan. Own what you are. You are a slut and a whore. I am a peon, and I would rather fuck your tight ass than all the sweetest pussy in the world."

Duncan just gaped at him. Montana took the opportunity to slip back to the floor and move up between Duncan's spread legs again. This time, though, he gripped each knee and lifted, dragging the smaller boy forward till he had his legs firmly draped over his shoulders. Duncan wiggled, but Olivero slapped his ass hard, his hand cracking on the pale flesh. "Be still!" he said sternly, as Duncan cried out, more from surprise than pain. "Your little lovers treated you like glass, eh? Afraid you would break?" He smacked the other cheek, and Duncan jerked again, but his pupils were dilating, and his hands had gone to his chest, plucking at his own nipples.

Olivero nodded in approval. "Yes, play with yourself, boy." He grabbed one of Duncan's hands and pulled it down, wrapping the fingers around Duncan's rigid, weeping cock, guiding it till Duncan was masturbating steadily. Duncan watched as Olivero put two fingers in his mouth, sucking them till they were lavishly coated with saliva. Then he reached down and, without preliminaries, rammed them both deep into Duncan's ass. Duncan screamed, eyes squeezing shut as his body arched, trying to pull away from the rude invasion. That earned him another volley of slaps on his already stinging cheeks. "I told you to be still."

"Vero, please! It hurts."

Olivero continued to work his fingers deep into the yielding flesh, but with his other hand he soothingly stroked Duncan's heaving belly. "I know, mi amor. The first time hurts. Wait, be patient. It will be worth it, I promise. Can you do that?"

Duncan slitted his eyes. His voice was teary. "All right."

"My brave one." Olivero pushed deeper, curling his fingers, searching. Suddenly he found what he was looking for, his fingers gliding over Duncan's prostate. The American boy stiffened for a moment, then seemed to melt around him with a throaty purr. "Yes, Chico. You like that."

He rubbed again, and Duncan moaned, tossing his head back and forth. "So good. Never felt anything like that, never. Should have done this before..."

"No!" Olivero's voice was firm. "And you won't do it with anyone else, Chico. Only me." He forced a third finger into the tight passage. Duncan made a soft keening sound as he struggled to accommodate it, his face flushed. "Say it." Duncan pushed his hips down, trying to get the fingers invading him to reach that magic spot again. The pain wasn't so bad when there was that electric feeling as a trade-off. Olivero snarled, pushing so hard that half his hand disappeared into the boy's body. "Say it!"

He touched that special place again, and Duncan was shaking, so close to coming he thought he'd go insane. "Yes, Vero, yes! Fuck me! Please, please, fuck me!" Duncan wailed with loss as the fingers were withdrawn, but then he saw Olivero spit in his palm and slick it over his dark, straining erection. Duncan jerked his legs up and back, pulling off Olivero's shoulder. Before his new lover could object Duncan heaved, hooking his arms around his knees and pulling them back almost to his shoulders, leaving himself spread and vulnerable. Olivero didn't hesitate. He grabbed the boy's hips, fitted his cock against the loosened hole, and slammed in as hard as he could.

Duncan screamed again as Olivero drove into him, the thick shaft plunging deep and making him feel as if he were splitting open, despite the preparation. Then the head of Montana's prick passed over Duncan's prostate, and the pain began to change into pleasure, heat spreading out through his body. He grunted as Montana settled against his body, his staff fully embedded in the smaller boy's ass. "Oh, God," Duncan whispered. "I'm gonna die, and probably go to hell, and I don't fucking CARE! I love you, Vero. Fuck me hard."

Olivero didn't reply. Instead he began to thrust into Duncan, hard and fast. There would be a time later for slow loving, for gentle touches and lingering caresses. Indeed, Olivero wanted that very much. He wanted to be able to take Duncan in a soft, large bed, and spend hours touching and tasting him, then fucking him in a slow, lazy rhythm till they both melted from pleasure. But right now they both needed it quick, hard, and rough.

After a couple of minutes of pounding into the hot sheath, Olivero saw the tremors in Duncan's arms and legs, and pulled his knees back over his shoulders, taking the strain off his lover. Then he reached down and gripped Duncan's cock, which had slapped wetly against the boy's belly with each thrust into his bowels. He stroked and squeezed in time to his pumping. Duncan scratched frantically at the sacks beneath him, moaning and wailing deliriously. Olivero barely had enough presence of mind to be grateful that the rest of the household was gone. Duncan was a noisy lover.

Finally, knowing he was almost ready, Olivero seated himself as deeply in Duncan's rectum as he could, his balls nestling in the sweaty crack of the other boy's ass. He held Duncan's cock in both fists and rubbed as hard and fast as he could, then reached down and squeezed the boy's testicles.

Duncan arched with a strangled cry, his whole body spasming around Olivero's buried cock. His eyes rolled back in is head as his orgasm lashed through him, sperm spurting from him in a hot, milky arc that splattered on his chest and began to trickle down toward his belly. Olivero started to come as he felt the sucking ripple of muscle along the length of his prick. With a roar he shoved again, and again, somehow managing to force another fraction of an inch into the tightly stretched asshole. He shot into Duncan's accepting back passage, and felt the hot liquid begin to ooze back along the sides of his prick as it began to soften.

He pulled out of Duncan, the humid air of the greenhouse feeling almost chilly on his now moist prick. When he lowered the boy's legs, they dropped limply. "Duncan?" He leaned over him, concerned. Duncan's eyes were closed, his breathing rapid. "Duncan?" He tapped the boy's cheek lightly.

Long eyelashes fluttered, and glazed, golden eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. Then they turned to Olivero, and focused. He was relieved when a slow, catlike smile curved Duncan's lips. "Oh, wow," Duncan whispered. "That was intense."

Olivero got Duncan's discarded shirt off the ground and used it to clean him, first wiping the spunk off his torso, then gently wiping the crack of his ass, removing the combined sperm and blood. He showed the soiled cloth to the boy sprawled over the sacks. "See, Chico? I broke your cherry."

"Animal." Duncan's voice was sated. He sat up, wincing. "Oo, that was terrific, but I don't think I'm gonna sit right for a week."

Olivero slipped Duncan's underwear, then his pants over his feet and worked them up to his knees. "Stand up so I can dress you."

"I don't think I can, just yet. 'Sides..." Duncan touched a fingertip to his crack and showed it to Olivero. There was a tiny smear of blood.

Montana ripped a swatch off the shirt, balled it up, and tucked it into the narrow crease. "You may need to keep some tissue back there for a day or so, but it isn't bad. Now, hold on to me, and stand up."

Duncan took hold of Olivero's shoulders and slid his feet down to the ground. The bigger man supported him as he pulled the clothes the rest of the way up the boy's slim body and finished closing them. "There." He caressed Duncan's cheek. "You should go have a hot bath, soak your aches away. Then take a nap. You Anglos have no sense, running around in the heat of the day when you don't have to."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Duncan slid his hands off Olivero's shoulders, reaching around to embrace him, leaning against his broad chest. "'Nother kiss?"

This kiss was different from the others, slow and tender. Anyone who knew Olivero would have been amazed. Duncan simply took it as his due. Duncan laid his head on Olivero's shoulder, whispering, "This wasn't just a one time thing, was it? Tell me you weren't just fucking the little Anglo boy to rack up some sort of macho points."

"No, Chico. You're mine now." Olivero tipped Duncan's chin up. Dark eyes met golden. "Remember that."

"Yes, Vero." Duncan walked to the door. For once he was less than graceful, his gate stiff and a little pained.

Olivero buttoned his pants back up and left the greenhouse, headed for the shack he shared with Bartolo. He wanted a beer very badly. Then he would begin to consider how he would change his life. He had always known he would not continue laboring on the plantation, that other things, greater things, waited for him. The time had come to pursue them. Now he had a clear goal. He must become rich enough to take care of Duncan properly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What are we doing here?"

Olivero's mind snapped back from its revery as Daniel Ballard leaned across him, peering out the window. He resisted the urge to just grab the man and drag him onto his lap. Montana looked out the window himself. They had turned into a small, private airfield. "We make the last leg of our journey by air, Daniel. There are no roads to my compound. Not anymore, anyway. Once it was built I had them destroyed."

Daniel pulled back, frowning at him. "But why? Doesn't that make a lot of trouble for you to get in and out?"

"Yes, it does, Chico. But it also makes it difficult for anyone else."

They parked, and Olivero and Manuel led the way toward a helicopter. The pilot, sitting behind the controls, fired the motor as they approached. The great rotors began to spin, and the churning air washed over them. A few yards from the copter Mulder halted, staring at it.

Ethan took his elbow. "C'mon, Danny."

Mulder shook him off. "I don't like it. No one said anything about going somewhere you... you had to FLY to get in and out of. It isn't SAFE." He took a step back. "Send me back to the city. I'll wait for you there." Ethan looked at him sharply, but realized that it was part of the act. Daniel wouldn't like to be in such an isolated environment. It would be natural for him to be apprehensive.

"Danny..."

"NO, Con!"

Ethan looked at Olivero, shrugging. Olivero went to Mulder. "Daniel, what is wrong?"

"I said I don't like it. Way out in the middle of nowhere. You two will be all busy, and what am I supposed to do all day?"

"I have amusements. There is a gym, a sauna, a pool. I have a video machine and many tapes."

The tall man's eyebrows arched. There was a hint of interest in his tone, despite his attempt to mask it. "In English?"

"Most of them, But," he touched Mulder's arm with one fingertip. "in most of the tapes it does not matter what language they speak." He stroked slowly. "Or should I say that the language is universal?"

Mulder gave a tiny, reluctant smile. "You're bad. But what if something happens out there? What if I get sick, or... or one of those great, big old jungle cats comes out and jumps on me?"

"With the helicopter I can have you to a hospital as quickly as any ambulance. Perhaps more quickly than some."

"I don't know..." Mulder pouted, looking at the drug lord from under half lowered lashes. His demeanor said 'Coax me.'

His fingers curled lightly around Mulder's arm. "Come, Duncan. You won't regret it."

Mulder let himself be led to the helicopter. He joined Manuel and Ethan inside, and Olivero climbed in after him. They were pressed tightly together as the machine lifted off. In the air, Mulder looked at Olivero curiously. "You got my name wrong back there."

"What?"

"You didn't say Daniel. You said... what? Duncan, I think."

Olivero looked out at the ocean of green washing below them, then turned dark, blank eyes on Mulder and said softly, "No, you must have been mistaken. The noise of the wind, yes? I haven't known anyone named Duncan for a long time..."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 33

They flew for over an hour. The jungle flowed below them, an unending ocean of lush green. Mulder lolled back in the seat, next to Montana, legs crooked up uncomfortably to fit in the short space behind the pilot. He squinted ahead through the windshield, spotting an open space ahead. "There's a clearing." It looked roughly the size of a football field.

Olivero nodded. "Si. It took a lot of work, clearing that space. My groundskeeper has to work very hard to keep the jungle from creeping back in. A year, two years, and the jungle would take over again. In ten years my house would be covered as surely as those ancient temples in Peru."

The copter circled and headed for a landing pad on the far side of the clearing. There was a pool in the back of the large house, and a garden and patio. They set down lightly, the wash of the rotors blowing back the leaves of the nearby trees. When the pilot cut the engine, Montana said, "My pilot is also my mechanic and handyman. You see, Daniel? We will always be able to get back to civilization, if we need to."

"All right," Mulder said grudgingly. "But I usually consider not having a choice of restaurants that deliver to be roughing it."

Olivero bowed his head, but he was smiling. "We will try our best to keep you happy, Daniel."

They exited the helicopter. A man trotted out from the house, and he and Manuel began to unload luggage from the back of the copter while the other men walked to the house. Mulder eyed it, calculating. "Not bad. Better than the old family homestead, or Yarborough's digs. How many rooms?"

Olivero shrugged. "Twenty? I haven't really counted."

Ethan fought down the urge to roll his eyes. A man shouldn't be obsessed with his possessions but such casual indifference could only be a pose. Olivero had decided that was how the upper class acted, and he was damned if he was going to be any less blase.

The interior was just as impressive. The entry way opened directly onto the living room on the right, and both rose to two stories. The decor was light, the furniture rich, but comfortable. Mulder estimated that the price of the suite would have entirely furnished a modest suburban house, possibly with appliances included. Drug lords weren't known for spartan tastes, but this seemed a bit overdone for one who hadn't yet moved into the upper echelon.

Was it possible that Montana was over-extending himself? Mulder thought that a good businessman would have been contented with a bit less while funneling more funds back into the business. Not that one WANTED savvy drug dealers, but something about this bothered him. They were counting on Montana reacting as a man whose main priority was profit. That should keep them safe, because he'd lose whatever benefit they could bring if he did away with them. But if Olivero had a different agenda... That would screw up the mix badly.

They went up a beautiful polished wood staircase and Olivero led them along a corridor, gesturing. "Here is the master bedroom, and here is Manuel's room. There are four others on this floor, and you may have your choice."

Mulder wasted no time in beginning to investigate the rooms, and the others trailed after him. In a dark paneled room he found a four-poster bed, across which he promptly threw himself, head first. Ethan followed him into the room, and Olivero stood at the door with Manuel and the servant waiting patiently behind.

Ethan strolled over to the window and gazed out. *Good. We're far enough away from Montana's room to be able to move around without alerting him, and our window faces out on the jungle. If I need to go out that way, it won't be easy for anyone to observe.* Aloud he said, "Ya like this one, Danny?"

When Mulder didn't immediately answer, he turned back, and had to smile at what he found. Fox had rolled onto his belly and stretched his hands and feet out toward the four posts in the classic spread eagle position. His voice was a little muffled. "Yes, this will do nicely."

"Ethan, you can have your own room, if you like," Olivero offered. "We may be working late. If you don't want to disturb Daniel when you go to bed..."

Mulder sat up, frowning. "Oh, no. I haven't slept apart from him a single night for the last two years. I'm not starting now."

"Very well." Montana stepped aside and allowed Manuel and the servant to bring the luggage into the room. "Perhaps Daniel will unpack while I show you my office, Connor."

Mulder's frown deepened, and he folded his arms. "I am not his wife--neither am I his maid."

Manuel cheerfully put a suitcase on the bed beside him. "I will be happy to do it, Danny, if you will direct me?"

Mulder relented. "I guess it won't hurt me to play domestic for once. Go on." He made shooing motions. "You MEN run off and tend to BUSINESS."

On their way back down the stairs Montana commented, "He can be touchy, can't he?"

"That he can." Ethan shook his head. "But he's worth it. When he's in a good mood there's no one in the world sweeter. Maybe he won't cook or clean house, but he'd walk over hot coals for me if he knew it was important, and I'd do the same for him."

"That is as it should be. You are a most fortunate man, Connor."

Ethan was gratified to see that there didn't appear to be any special security measures on the room that Olivero was using as an office. But then, that meant that he'd have to do a more careful check later. The really good security systems were the ones that weren't evident at first glance. It was possible that Olivero considered the jungle surrounding them to be enough of a deterrent that he did not need to take extra precautions, but it wasn't likely.

He walked around the room, studying it. There were many shelves of books in both English and Spanish, everything from popular novels to respected works on economics, politics, philosophy, and culture. The surprising thing was that they all looked like they had been read. None of them had the prissy, knife-edged blockiness to the pages that Ethan associated with them never having been opened.

There was a small personal computer on the desk, and Ethan was surprised to see that it was several years old. He would have expected Olivero, who seemed dedicated to conspicuous consumption, to have the latest model. As he looked around a slow conviction grew. *This is NOT the real office.*

"Where do ya keep your files?" he asked, running a hand over the top of the monitor.

Olivero tapped the beige box. "In here."

Ethan frowned. "Jesus, Montana. What if ya have a power surge? Losing that kind of information could cripple ya for months." When Montana shrugged, Ethan continued. "Even I keep paper records. Well hidden, of course."

"Galbraith," Ethan did not miss the use of his surname. "how I run my end of the business is not your concern."

Ethan took the warning. "Yeah. As long as the middle join is smooth, then there's no need for either end to concern itself too much with the other, I suppose."

*That tears it. The real deal is somewhere else, and it's in the house or on the grounds because Montana wouldn't want it to be too far out of reach. Well, we should be able to cover the entire house between us, but it may take a couple of days to do it without raising suspicion.*

Upstairs Mulder and Manuel made short work of the unpacking, then Fox lay back down on the bed with a dramatic sigh. "I don't know what it is about flying, but even that little hop has left me simply drained."

Manuel sat on the bed beside him. "You will have plenty of time to relax here."

"I suppose so. I just hope I don't get so relaxed that my brain melts."

"Do not worry." Manuel stretched out on the bed beside Mulder. "I will do my best to amuse you."

Mulder rolled on his side and examined the young man. The innuendo in his voice had been so blatant that it could not really be considered innuendo. "Uh-huh. Tell me, darlin', are you comfortable with being considered recreational equipment?"

"I would not live this life if I did not enjoy it, Daniel." He reached out and laid a hand against Mulder's belly. "I chose Senor Montana. I enjoy serving him. Occasionally, though," he stroked lightly, "I want to be the one in control. That is not possible with him, but he does not deny me outside friends." His hand started to slide lower.

Mulder caught his wrist, firmly but not roughly. "I haven't asked Connor yet, pretty boy. He'll probably say yes, but this relationship is founded on being sure about what each of us wants."

Manuel nodded. "I understand. I would enjoy being with him, also. But you are the one I want most."

Fox smiled. "Boy, I have to wonder if you're this honest in everything."

Manuel suddenly twisted his hand, breaking Mulder's grip. In a flash he had seized the FBI agent's wrist in the same way that Mulder had gripped him, but more forcefully. He said softly, "Again you call me a boy, Danny. I told you, I am a man." He leaned down. Mulder sucked in a breath as he felt Manuel's mouth on the inside of his forearm, just below where he was held. There was the soft, warm press of lips, then a wet swipe of tongue. Then there was the pinch of teeth. Mulder jerked, but Manuel hung on, his bite tightening in warning. Mulder subsided. He wasn't breaking the skin, but he was telegraphing the POSSIBILITY of damage.

After a moment, when Mulder didn't continue to resist, the bite eased and he licked the rapidly bruising skin soothingly, then pressed another kiss on it. When he let go Mulder scowled, rubbing the injured area. "All right, you're a man. A MEAN man."

"I don't want to be." Manuel stood up. "Please, Daniel. Have a talk with your lover. We are both in the same position. We should be good to each other."

Mulder, expression thoughtful, watched him leave. He looked down at the bruise forming on his wrist and muttered, "The puppy has fangs."

*No, Manuel, you and I are NOT in the same position. You and Daniel aren't, either. Daniel might defer to Connor most of the time, but with them it's more a matter of form than anything else. They respect each other. Olivero may value you, but he sure as hell doesn't RESPECT you.*

Ethan returned to the room a few minutes later. He went directly into the bathroom and opened his shaving kit. "So, Danny, what d'ya think so far?"

Mulder followed him and watched as he unscrewed the base of what looked like a can of shaving cream and removed the same bug sweeping device he had used the first day he had met him. "Nice enough, I suppose, even if it IS a little isolated."

Ethan ran the machine in the bathroom. It flashed when it neared the lighting fixture. Ethan put the lid down on the toilet, stood on it, and peered up at the frosted glass globe that encased the lightbulb. "Nice and quiet, though, eh? Ya won't have to worry about the gunshots and car chases keeping you awake at night." He pointed to a small shadow, barely visible inside the globe, and Mulder nodded.

"I just hope that we don't have parrots screaming at all hours of the night." Fox watched as Ethan swept the machine around the bedroom. He located two more devices: one in a lamp on the dresser and one hidden in the elaborate carving on their headboard. When he saw the last he mouthed, "Why, those dirty voyeuristic bastards!"

Ethan put the machine away again, then took Mulder in his arms, pressed his lips to his ear, and whispered, "We'll have to be careful. They aren't strong enough to catch this, but anything approaching a normal voice is out of the question, and if we're quiet too long when we aren't sleeping they might get suspicious." He pulled back and said in his usual voice, "I don't think you'll have to worry about that. They sleep at night. Now, the jaguars are a different matter."

"Con! Don't TELL me they actually HAVE them around here? Good lord, I was JOKING when I said I was afraid a jungle cat would jump on me!"

"Relax, sweetheart. You weren't planning on hiking through the jungle, were you?"

"Most certainly not."

"Then you should be fine, though I 'd rather you didn't go outside at night."

Fox sighed. "But they have that lovely pool, and you know how much I like moonlight swims."

"All right. Just not alone, eh? You know I don't like you swimming alone, anyway. Some day you'll knock that fool head and drown."

"Not likely. I float. It's my buoyant personality."

"Anyone ever tell you ya do NOT suffer from an inferiority complex."

"Um... you have. But like I told Manuel, you're such a liar."

Mulder was pushing his hair back off his forehead when Ethan spotted the bruise just below his wrist. "What's that?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Let me see it."

"No, really, Con, it's all right."

"Danny, give me your hand. Now."

Sighing, Mulder complied. Ethan studied the nasty looking bruise. It was rapidly moving toward purple, and there were darker marks around the edge. "What the fuck? I know I didn't do that to you last night, and it wasn't there this morning. What the hell happened?" Mulder said nothing, fidgeting. He knew that he had to tell Ethan. It was essential that his partner be aware of the attitudes and actions of the men they were dealing with. But he was unsure of how Daniel would react in this situation, and then there was the question of how Montana and Manuel would react to whatever was said. At last he said, "Manuel plays a little rough."

Ethan's hand tightened, and he looked up at Mulder slowly. His eyes were like ice, but his voice was low. "D'ya mean to tell me that he MARKED you?"

"We didn't really do anything, Con. I told him there'd be none of that until I talked to you. It's my fault, a little. He WAS a little insistent about being taken seriously as a man, and you know me. I... push things."

Ethan stroked his arm. "Did he hurt you, sweetheart?" Before Mulder could answer, Ethan answered himself. "Fuck, of course he did! You've got a bloody great blue mark."

Mulder had a moment of disorientation. He couldn't be sure how much of this was Ethan acting as Connor, and how much of it was just Ethan. He knew that Hunt would not jeopardize the mission this early in the game for something as trivial as a bruise administered in what amounted to sex play, but he also knew that it wasn't going to be easy for him not to react.

He touched Ethan's cheek. "Baby, it's all right. Actually, it was a little sexy." He forced a laugh. "It's kind of like expecting a cocker spaniel and finding a Doberman."

"But if he does this when you aren't even..."

"Please, Con. He was just making his point. Look, we've come this far, gone through all this shit. We can't let it be spoiled just because someone didn't treat me like spun glass. Promise me that you won't make a big deal out of this."

Ethan sighed heavily. "Danny, are ya sure ya want to have anything to do with either of them? You don't have to, you know."

"Do you want me to stay away from them, love?"

"I don't know. I want you to be happy."

"We don't have to decide anything right now. We can just see what develops. So, you've seen the nerve center?" Mulder gave the last two words a sardonic twist.

"Yah. Ya know, Danny, it's amazing. The man doesn't keep any paper records."

"Is that so?" Ethan made a 'bullshit' gesture, and Mulder nodded. "My. He must be incredibly organized to run such a big operation without it. How are you going to be able to decide whether or not to make the deal if you don't have figures to look at?"

Ethan shrugged. "I suppose he'll provide what he sees fit, and I'll decide on that. I just hope he knows that too little information might decide me in a direction he won't like." He directed this statement pointedly at one of the bugs.

Downstairs, in a small room off Olivero's office, one that Ethan had been told was a supply closet, Olivero sat at a desk. looking at the electronics panel before him. The switch indicating the bedroom Galbraith and Ballard had chosen was flipped to 'ON', and he was listening to the conversation. Manuel stood behind him. "So. A bit over eager, pet?"

Manuel shrugged. He could tell that Olivero wasn't really upset. The big man wanted the American as much as Manuel did, and he was perfectly willing to allow his submissive to test the waters before he made a move himself. "He invites it, Master."

"How did he react?"

"Nicely. A little reluctance at first."

"Interesting. Do you think that Connor will give his blessing?"

"It is difficult to say. If he thinks Daniel wants it, I believe he will. I think that including him would make it much more likely than approaching Daniel alone, though. They are very devoted to each other."

"You think so? It looks like that, I admit. But appearances can be deceiving when it comes to fidelity, Manuel. I can attest to that."

Again there was the strange distance in his voice, and Manuel sensed that it was not necessarily Daniel Ballard and Connor Galbraith who had inspired it.

=====  
Scribe, making the world a better place through smut!

Plot, plot, plot. Smut, smut, smut. Decisions, decisions, decisions. I must rearrange my priorities.

I love emails. This way I no one has to know that the only writing implement they allow me is a crayon.

I wouldn't mind the wombats in my lingerie drawer, but they WILL insist on wearing my Wonderbra.

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 34

Obsession Strengthens

Twenty Years Before

Diaz knew about the new situation almost immediately. How could he be mistaken? Suddenly the padrone's new son was underfoot at all times in the greenhouse. He offered to help, but he was not of much use. He was willing, but he had no talent for working with the plants, and they could not risk the precious seedlings. So the boy was relegated to sweeping floors, wiping windows, and finally, in desperation, polishing and sharpening tools.

And always his eyes clung to Montana. They followed every move the older boy made, lingering lovingingly on the more intimate areas of his body. Duncan would go to Olivero now and then, ostensibly to get his approval of a particular cleaning or sharpening job, and the mixed blood would TOUCH him. Oh, true enough that it was no more than a hand on the back or shoulder, but it was a CARESS, not just a touch, and the boy would LEAN into it.

It was natural enough, Diaz supposed. The boy was far from everything familiar, and left alone most of the time with few amusements. At least the local men would not have to worry about their daughters turning up with pale babies. Still, if they were not more discreet, it would not be long before the entire area knew that de la Montana's boy was fucking the little American.

The padrone? The padrone was a blind man in such things, but his wife was another matter. The only reason she did not know was that she spent so little time with the boy, being busy in the city with her shopping and socializing. It could not escape her attention forever, though. She had plans for the boy. Already she had invited the young people of several of the city's more prominent families to the house to socialize with her son. Diaz, bringing in fresh flowers, had heard her urging him to dance with this girl, or be nice to that one. "You're probably going to marry one of them, Duncan," she'd hissed to the bored looking boy. "Now is the time to start courting."

*Oh, senora, you have no idea where your son's interests lie, do you?* The party had been set up out on the back lawn, and Duncan was supervising the use of his music machine. His American rock and roll scandalized the Colombian grownups, but made him very popular with the young set. Diaz watched him at the tape machine, standing close with a small, slender boy. Their heads were close together as they discussed the next tape selection.

There was a slight movement in the bushes behind the boys, and Diaz examined it cautiously. There were still dangerous animals in the area, and, though most would be frightened away by the noise and light, some might be drawn by curiosity. He saw that it was, indeed, a dangerous predator. Olivero de la Monatana crouched, almost invisible in the sheltering branches, and watched the exchange between the two boys with hot eyes. Duncan suddenly laughed, throwing his arm around the other boy's shoulder, and Olivero's lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl.

Diaz felt a stab of misgivings. The idea of crossing class lines did not bother him as much as it did some, but this... The boy did not know what he was dealing with. As Montana melted back into the shadows, Diaz reflected that it was possible that NO ONE knew what they were dealing with when it came to Olivero. He shivered. *I think there is something very nasty beneath his skin.*

The party did not last very late, and soon cars came to collect the guests. Duncan, playing the proper host, saw them all off with thanks and vague promises to meet at a future date. When they were gone he sighed. *Dear God, they're all so BACKWARD.* He smiled to himself. *Although that Pasquale was kind of nice. That little butt certainly looked firm.*

With that his thoughts turned back to Olivero. He hadn't been able to see his lover all day, and he was starting to feel antsy. He knew where Olivero was living, and it wasn't too far away. He considered. His mother would be asleep quickly: she was worn out from organizing this do. If he was patient...

It was no trouble to slip out. Duncan was careful to stay in the center of the road as he made his way to the workers' huts. The jungle on either side made him very nervous, he could hear things MOVING in there.

Finally he reached his destination. The huts all looked alike, but he thought for a moment and figured out which one he wanted. He was relieved to see that there was light seeping under the badly hung door, and glowing around the cloth hanging in the single window. He hurried over and tapped lightly at the door.

There was a grumble inside, and Duncan's Spanish was good enough for him to recogize swearing. The door cracked open, and a swarthy man peered out at him. Duncan took a step back, eyeing the knife in his hand. Bartolo blinked at the tall, pale youth standing outside his shack, then grinned. "Olivero's chico, eh?" Duncan nodded hesitantly. "He isn't here."

"Oh. I thought..." Duncan stopped, biting his lip.

"He went to watch you at your fiesta."

"I didn't see him."

"You wouldn't have." Bartolo looked past Duncan, and the boy instinctively turned to see what had caught his attention. His heart lifted when he saw Olivero emerging from the jungle by the road.

Montana came to the shack, his eyes fixed firmly on Duncan. The boy felt a flutter of unease when he saw the man's dark expression, but the desire to be with him over rode the internal warning. Olivero stopped before him and said quietly, "It was foolish for you to come here. There are many dangers in the jungle."

Duncan knew instinctively that the proper response would be instant, abject agreement and apology, but he said, "YOU were out there."

Olivero cocked his head. "I am not a soft, pale Anglo boy, Duncan. The jungle is my home. I understand it, and it understands me."

Bartolo cleared his throat, getting Olivero's attention. "Montana, will you need the room?"

Olivero looked at Duncan again, and nodded slowly. "Si. I will need the room."

Bartolo favored Duncan with a sharklike smile, and went back inside. Duncan flinched a little when Olivero's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Since you are here, you had getter get inside. It would not do for the peons to see the padrone's son entering the shack of a worker."

Olivero pushed Duncan into the shack, shutting the door behind him. Duncan looked around the rough room, eyes widening. He had been raised in comfort, never lacking for anything, and he had never really been exposed to such squalor.

Bartolo was sitting at a rickety table with a bottle of cheap whiskey and a glass before him, drinking. As he finished, Olivero went over and pulled the glass out of his hand, pouring a full glass. "I have a guest, Barto. Do not be a selfish pig."

Olivero handed the glass to Duncan, who took it gingerly, eyeing it with trepidation. He'd stolen a few sips of wine before, and his last stepfather had bought him beer occasionally, but he'd never tried liquor. Olivero smirked. "Don't worry about germs, chico. The alcohol will kill them, yes?"

"It's not that. I don't know if I can drink that stuff. It smells pretty strong."

Olivero laid a hand across the back of Duncan's neck. "Try, chico. For me." When Duncan still hesitated, he squeezed, hard. "Do it."

There was the unmistakable ring of command in that tone. Duncan took a deep breath and gulped the whiskey. He managed half of it before the coughing fit over took him. Olivero took the glass before he could spill it, and watched dispassionately as the boy choked and wheezed, tears forming in his eyes. When Duncan had gotten control of himself again, Olivero handed him the remainder.

Duncan's voice was hoarse. "But Vero, I might get sick."

"I would not advise that, chico. You would be wise this night to take everything I give you."

A little worried, Duncan said, "What have I done?"

"Finish it, Duncan. Then we will discuss your behavior." Frightened now, Duncan obeyed, finishing the raw liquor with a little less difficulty. He supposed that some of the cells in his mouth and throat were already deadened, or he would have choked again.

While he hitched and shivered, Olivero poured himself a much smaller drink, swallowed it, and handed the glass back to Bartolo. In Spanish he said, "Tolo, you come anywhere near that screen without an invitation, your cojones will suffer."

His friend nodded his understanding and watched as Olivero herded the already swaying boy back into the tiny cubicle. *Well, my friend, I cannot watch, but there is no way you can prevent my listening, can you?* He chuckled darkly. Judging from Vero's mood, the Anglo boy was going to get a real workout tonight.

In the partitioned off space Duncan said, "Vero, why are you angry? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I am always happy to see you, little one. You brighten my life." He still had his hand on the back of Duncan's neck. Now he put the other hand up to stroke the side of his neck.

"I wasn't sure. I haven't seen much of you the last couple of days."

"That is because I have begun working for our future."

"OUR... future?"

"Si. I have always known that I would not spend my life like my father, and his father: working for the padrone. But until I had you, Duncan, I had no clear vision of how I would escape that fate. Now I know, and I have begun."

Olivero was massaging the back of his neck, and Duncan began to relax a little. Of course, the idea of a common future was ridiculous: they were from different worlds. Still, it was flattering to think that he was more to Olivero than a sex partner. What would it hurt to let him dream? "What has begun?"

Olivero stroked Duncan's throat gently, feeling the steady pulse of the blood just beneath the smooth skin. Duncan had only recently begun shaving, and he still did not have the stiff bristles that would come later. "Surely you know where the money lies in Colombia, chico? A smart boy like you."

Duncan felt a thrill of the forbidden. "Not drugs?"

"Some might consider it so, but not yet. Only the marijuana, Duncan. I do not yet have the resources to grow or process poppies, but that will come. The white powder is more valuable than the gold men have worked so hard to coax from the rivers and mountains. It will not be long, perhaps only a year or two, before I can move up into that profession."

"Vero, you shouldn't. I don't really mind it: some of my friends smoked pot back in the states."

"I have no choice, Duncan. There is no other way I can get what I need to keep you as you should be kept."

Duncan blinked. *He's talking about me again like I'm his whore. I hate that.* But it was exciting, too. Being desired so completely was intoxicating. "But it's dangerous. You could get killed, or sent to prison."

"Would you miss me, chico?" he whispered.

"You know I would. Nobody does me like you."

Duncan's eyes widened as Olivero's hand closed over his throat. The big man's voice was still silky as he said, "Not even the little cabron you were flirting with at your party?"

Duncan Broussard suddenly felt ice cold at the core. "Vero, I wasn't... I wasn't flirting."

He shrugged, but did not loosen his grip. "I have eyes, chico. I have ears. You put your arm around him. Your face was so close to his that if either of you had moved another inch you would have kissed. That is not flirting?"

"No!" Duncan tried to pull away, and he felt Olivero's grip tighten.

"If you try to get away from me, Duncan, I will choke you unconscious." Seeing the fear in the younger boy's eyes, he smiled cruelly. "No, I will not kill you, at least not on purpose. I do not wantonly destroy my property."

He moved so that he was between Duncan and the only exit, then released him. "Take off your clothes, quickly." Duncan began unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers. "Hurry, slut, unless you want to explain to your bitch mother why they are torn."

Duncan managed to strip off the rest of his clothes. He was more than half drunk now, and he almost fell when he struggled with the pants. When he was naked Olivero grabbed his shoulders hard enough to bruise. With one abrupt, brutal movement, he threw Duncan down on the ragged mattress that sat on the rough wood floor, and fell on top of him.

The breath was driven from Duncan's lungs on impact. Before he could suck in a breath Olivero had his tongue in his mouth, and after that he had little chance. Olivero did not release his mouth, even when he reached down to open his pants and free his rigid erection. He savaged the boy's mouth, biting hard enough to draw blood. Duncan cried out, but he didn't fight. Somehow he knew that, if he struggled, Olivero might not be able to keep his promise about not killing him.

Montana's hands were everywhere, even rougher and more hurtful than before. It frightened Duncan terribly when he began to respond to the violent caresses. His nipples hardened under the nip and scrape of Olivero's teeth. His cock swelled and began to leak pre-ejaculate as Olivero pulled and rubbed, chafing the tender skin.

Duncan felt panicked. After that first abrupt joining in the greenhouse, Olivero had been a strong, but considerate lover. This couldn't be anything but punishment. As his lover flipped him over onto his stomach and shoved his legs apart Duncan thought wildly, *All I did was talk to him.*

He screamed when Olivero entered him. There had been no lubrication, not even spit, and no preparation. It hurt worse than it did the first time. And he still didn't get soft. Olivero pounded into him, hard and fast, each stabbing thrust causing a bolt of pain along with the jolt of pleasure when Olivero's cock glided over his prostate.

In the dimly lit main room, Bartolo untied the drawstring on his pants and opened them. Reaching inside, he began to stroke himself as he listened to the pleading whimpers and the wet, smacking sounds. Oh, Montana had himself a hot little bitch, all right, but Bartolo wasn't entirely sure that he was dealing with this in the right way. Instead of breaking the boy to his desires, he might scare him off. Of course, Bartolo would never be fool enough to suggest such a thing. He was very fond of his prick, and did not want it sliced off and stuffed down his own throat.

Olivero whispered to Duncan as he fucked him. He told him how stupid it was to cheat on Olivero de la Montana. He told him how ungrateful he was to cast sheep eyes at another man when Olivero was prepared to give him the world. He promised that this would seem like a gentle caress if Duncan ever again acted in such a manner.

Duncan clutched at the thin, rough sheet beneath him, and tried not to succumb to hysteria. If he screamed again, he would not be able to stop, and Montana would very likely kill him. Even as the big man on top of him climaxed, filling his ravaged ass with hot sperm, Duncan had begun to plan his escape. Oh, not from the shack. He was fairly sure that if he could just endure the next hour or so Olivero would allow him to return to the house. He would be confident that he'd forced Duncan into submission, not expecting any kind of rebellion. No, Duncan needed to get totally away from here, at least for awhile, and he knew how to do it.

When Olivero had finished he forced Duncan to lick him clean. To Duncan's dismay, Olivero became aroused again. Olivero fucked Duncan's mouth, too impatient to allow the boy to suck him, and Duncan came close to choking when Olivero held his head and rammed deep into his throat.

After he came the second time, Olivero refastened his pants (he'd never taken his clothes off, and somehow that made Duncan feel even more degraded), then stood up, kicking Duncan's hip lightly. "Dress." Duncan could barely move, but he knew better than to hesitate or protest. He dragged his clothes on, knowing good and well that he was going to have to dispose of his underwear before his mother or one of the servants noticed the sperm and blood.

They left the room. Bartolo was just tying a knot in his drawstring, and Duncan felt sick when he saw the man's smirk and the fresh puddle staining the floor boards between his feet. Silently Olivero escorted him back to his home. Duncan's legs started to give out when they neared the house, and Olivero unhesitatingly scooped him into his arms and carried him the rest of the way.

At the back door, Olivero carefully set Duncan on his feet. "Can you make it up to bed?"

"Yes."

Olivero frowned. On the surface the boy sounded meek enough, but when he looked up at Olivero, gold eyes glinting through those dark lashes, he wasn't sure. "You understand why I had to do this, Duncan? You must accept the fact that you belong to me."

"Yes, Vero." Again the veiled look.

Olivero sighed. Well, there would always be time for another lesson, if it was necessary. He bent to kiss Duncan. The boy did not struggle or protest, he didn't stiffen or try to keep his lips closed and block Olivero out. But he was totally passive, almost limp. When he pulled away, Olivero studied him for a moment. "Good night, Duncan."

Duncan smiled. As he walked away Olivero heard his soft response. "Goodbye, Olivero."

The next morning his mother was concerned with how pale he looked. *The boy is almost haggard,* she thought. *This tropical climate can't be good for him. I really need to get him away. Perhaps this time he'll listen to sense.* "Duncan, have you considered what we talked about?"

Duncan put down the fork he had been using to push his breakfast around his plate. "Yes, Mom, I have. I've changed my mind. I WANT to go to school back in the states."

His mother wilted in relief. "Well, thank God! Maybe there's a chance you'll avoid turning out common, once you spend some time with the right people. I already registered you at St. Anthony's in New Orleans." She waited for him to protest her assumption that he would cave in, but he only nodded. "Next semester you can..."

"I want to leave now."

"But Duncan, the semester started a week ago. I might be able to manage it, but you'll be behind. You'll have to really scratch to catch up, and I know how you hate..."

"If I don't leave tomorrow..." He took a breath. "You can get me on a plane today, can't you?"

"I... yes. But Duncan, why are you suddenly..."

Her son stood up abruptly. "Don't nag me about this, Mom. You got what you wanted: I'm going to prep in New Orleans. But I'm only going to do it if I leave TODAY."

"Duncan!"

"No arguments, Mom. You couldn't understand my reasons." She suddenly saw the bleak, haunted look in her son's eyes. "I'll just tell you that if I don't leave today, I think it will be too late." He gave her an almost ghastly smile. "I will have gone native, as you say."

She drew in a steadying breath. "All right, Duncan. Go pack, and I'll start making arrangements."

She was startled when her son came over and dropped a soft kiss on her cheek. Duncan could be such a charming boy, but lately he'd wasted precious little of that charm on her. Now, he gave her a sudden hug, and she had a brief flash of how it had been when he was tiny, and he'd come to her for a hug, and the assurance that he was safe from whatever boogey man had been haunting his imagination. She patted his back. "I don't know what's wrong, Duncan, but it will be all right."

Duncan stared past her, stared at the large bouquet of hothouse flowers that the gardener had brought in that morning, and murmured, "I hope so, Mom. God, I hope so."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 35  
Getting Acquainted

Columbia, present day

They were served at table that night by a stolid mestizo woman and an Indian girl not long into her teens. Both were so silent that Mulder had no idea whether or not they spoke English. They were effectively mute. They might as well have been invisible, too, for all the attention that Manuel and Olivero paid them.

Mulder was a little surprised that they didn't eat at a dining table roughly the length of a bowling alley. Instead they were at a table that was not much larger than a card table. He realized why they were being treated to such informality when, about halfway through the meal, a hand landed on his knee.

He didn't change expression, or look up. Ethan was across from Fox, so it wasn't him. *Let's see. It's coming from my right. That would be...* He looked at Manuel archly as he sipped his wine. The younger man smiled, and Fox felt a squeeze. The hand slid higher. *Well, if he's expecting discreet, he's misjudged Daniel.* Fox said coolly, "Young man, remove your hand." The other two men looked at Manuel, who retrieved his hand, but didn't seem too embarrassed. Mulder spoke to Olivero. "It's not so much that I object to being groped. It's very flattering, actually. But we're EATING right now, and it's hardly sanitary."

"Please forgive him, Daniel. It is a chore to keep him from having dessert first," Olivero said blandly.

Ethan added cheerfully , "And ya might keep in mind, laddie, that I'm holdin' a steak knife and fork at the moment."

"My apologies, senors," Manuel murmured.

Olivero looked at Ethan. "Do you wish for me to punish him?"

Mulder waved his hand. "Hello? Injured party over here. No, there's no need to slap his wrist." When Olivero looked at Ethan again Fox made his voice cold. "And you can just STOP looking to him for the answer. Major stuff, yes, I defer, but not for petty shit like this. Now, let's forget this, shall we?"

After dinner they went into... well, it wasn't the huge front living room, and it wasn't exactly a recreation room. Mulder supposed that it would have been called a 'salon' in an English manor house. It was intimate, but still fairly formal. Mulder and Hunt settled on a small loveseat, Olivero took an armchair opposite them, and Manuel (as usual) went to the small bar to pour drinks. When he had distributed them, not taking one for himself, he settled on Olivero's lap and accepted sips from him.

"Tomorrow, Connor, I will take you out to view one of the nearer poppy fields, and introduce you to a few of my mid-level men." Olivero set aside his empty glass and began to massage Manuel's neck absently.

*It's like someone scratching his dog behind the ears while he talks,* Ethan thought. "Good enough." He looked over at Mulder. "Do ya want to come along, Danny?"

Mulder hesitated a moment, waiting to see of Montana would objecte. When he didn't, Fox said, "Run around in that baking heat? No, I DON'T think so. I'll find something to do around here." Manuel gave him a wide smile. "I wasn't talking about you, Manuel." He cocked his head, then looked at Ethan. "Though I don't know..."

Ethan shrugged. "I know how you hate to be bored, Danny. He seems like a nice enough playmate, as long as his daddy doesn't mind." His eyes grew cold when he looked at Manuel, and he gently touched the dark mark on Fox's wrist. "And he behaves himself."

Olivero's hand tightened on the back of Manuel's neck. "I promise that any mark he puts on your boy will be doubly applied to his own smooth hide."

Fox looked at Ethan, who nodded. Fox scooted toward Ethan, then patted the seat beside him. "Then fly to me, little one, and let us become better acquainted."

Olivero released Manuel, who scrambled down and came over to insinuate himself in the narrow space between Fox and the loveseat's arm. He must have found it a touch TOO narrow, because he promptly hung one leg over Fox's. Fox looked at Ethan. "Friendly little thing." He looked back at Manuel. "Relax. We have days and days."

"True, senor, but I do not wish to wait that long." He shifted quickly, and ended up straddling Mulder's legs, facing him.

"Oh, and it's fast, too."

Manuel lifted and moved forward, setting his knees on either side of Mulder's hips. When he lowered himself again, their crotches rested against each other. He began to rise and fall, a few inches at a time, rubbing himself against the older man. Fox gripped his waist to hold him steady, and leaned back comfortably, letting the young man do as he wished.

His voice tolerant, Ethan said, "You're lazy tonight, eh, Danny? Going to let the boyo do all the work?"

Fox gave him a languid look. "Far be it from me to stifle his energy."

Ethan tipped a look at Olivero. "Good to see the children playing together so nicely."

They watched as Manuel rode against Fox, posting like a child on his first pony ride. Fox began to lift to meet him, holding him so that he could move against him more firmly. "I ought to stop this," he murmured.

Ethan reached over and touched Fox's throat. "Danny, why on earth would you want to do that?"

"Because I'm kind of old to come in my pants, that's why."

"We can take care of that, senor." Manuel moved Fox's hands off his waist and knelt before him, pushing his knees apart. Fox looked at Ethan, who nodded. They all watched as Manuel unzipped his fly and reached inside.

Olivero quietly shifted his chair so that he had a clear view as Manuel eased Mulder's cock out into the open. He cradled the half-hard organ gently in his palms, and Ethan realized that he was displaying Fox for his master. Without a doubt, Manuel wanted this, but he was doing it at the direction of his lover.

*Just as well,* Ethan thought. *I'm not so sure I WANT Montana to get his hands on Fox.*

Manuel bent his head and blew a warm breath across Fox's cock head. The older man shivered, sighing quietly. He was giving every evidence of relaxed arousal, but inside he was tied in a knot. He'd had sex now and then with someone he didn't know all that well, but never with anyone he was sure was dangerous--never with someone he wouldn't have freely chosen.

As he felt the first moist swipe of Manuel's tongue, he thought, *The movies always fade out before it gets to this point. There's always some distraction before the main character gives up his or her body to the bad guy. They also don't hint that it could feel this good.*

Manuel kneaded the strong muscles of Daniel's thigh with one hand, holding his cock steady with the other, and licked delicately at the flushed glans. He teased the tear shaped slit with his tongue, dipping into it until he had coaxed the first clear droplets of pre-ejaculate fluid from it. Then he drew back again to give Olivero a clear view as the fluid oozed out to trickle down the side of the shaft.

Olivero massaged his crotch, his eyes fixed on the tableau. When his gaze met Ballard's he smiled and said, "Manuel is quite good at this, yes?"

"Pretty good so far, but it's called cock sucking for a reason."

"Manuel, Danny is impatient. Get on with it."

Manuel took the glans into his mouth and began to suck, stroking the shaft slowly. He loved performing this act almost as much as experiencing it. While the one giving head was considered to be the submissive partner, it gave Manuel a sense of power. He had his partner's most vulnerable part between his teeth. He could maim, or he could pleasure--it was his choice. Tonight he chose to pleasure, but there had been times... One of Olivero's enemies had thought he was being given a peace offering when Manuel went on his knees before him. A bullet to his brain had ended the man's life, but the medical examiner said that the wound to his genitals might have let him bleed to death, if he had lived long enough.

Manuel slowly sank down, swallowing Danny's cock, till he had his nose pressed to the American's groin. Mulder was impressed. His experience with Ethan had taught him that trick wasn't all that easy, and Manuel did it with no hesitation. The younger man repeated the process over and over, swirling his tongue against the underside of Daniel's prick, then fastened again on the head, flicking.

Olivero opened his pants and reached inside, beginning to stroke himself. Danny's head dropped back against the cushions, and he moaned quietly. The sounds of passion were always similar, but was there something familiar about that small, breathy sound? Something that he had been waiting to hear for almost twenty years?

Ethan moved even closer to Fox, slipping an arm around his neck. He reached down to touch the sleek head that bobbed in his lover's lap, and at the same time pulled Fox's head down on his shoulder and began kissing him.

*He allows him this play,* Olivero thought, *but at the same time reminds him who he belongs to. Yes, I do not blame you, Galbraith. If he were mine, I would want him to hold me in his mind every moment.*

*I'm getting all sorts of experience on this mission,* Fox thought. *For instance, I've never been kissed while someone was giving me head. It's nice.*

Ethan rubbed his lips against Mulder's and murmured, "Is it good, sweetheart? Can he do it better than I can?"

"It's good, Con, but just different, not better. You know that no one is better than you. I love you."

*That is the right answer, chico. When you belong to someone, NO ONE is better than he is,* Olivero thought as his movements sped up. *Not even if they ARE better.*

Galbraith kissed Fox again, then smiled lazily at Montana. "Can ya see all right from there, Vero?"

His hand did not cease moving. "For now, Connor. For now."

In another few moments Fox arched his hips up, thrusting deep into Manuel's mouth again, and began to come. When he finally went still, finished, the young man slid his lips back up Mulder's prick, keeping a tight seal. He continued, easing off the head with his lips pursed, as if preparing to bestow a kiss. With a final pet to Mulder's thighs, Manuel stood and went back to Olivero.

As the younger man seated himself again on Montana's lap, Fox said drowsily, "Manuel, what ARE you doing? You look like Alvin the Chipmunk with your cheeks all plumped out like that."

"Please, Danny," Olivero said, "do not make him smile, or he will lose it."

"Lose...?" As Ethan and Fox watched, Manuel fitted his lips over Olivero's open mouth, and Olivero sucked the boy's tongue in, capturing the mouthful of still hot sperm that Manuel had conveyed to him. "Oh, my." Fox looked at Ethan. "You know, darling, sometimes I feel almost innocent."

Ethan pulled out a handkerchief and tenderly cleaned Mulder's still slick cock. "You ARE an innocent, Danny, m'love. You will be no matter how many you fuck. Give us a kiss."

"I've told you that he lies? Well, he's also mad." Fox kissed Ethan almost chastely. "We should go to bed now, if you have to get up at some godawful time of the morning."

"Things are relaxed here in the jungle, Danny," Olivero assured him. "You and Connor may sleep as late as you like." He had pushed Manuel off his lap, and now the young man was assuming the same position that he had with Mulder, moving in between his patrone's knees. Olivero's dick jutted stiffly through his open fly, and Manuel engulfed it in a quick swoop, beginning to suck briskly.

Ethan and Fox exchanged looks, then remained where they were, and watched. They had provided a show, and now de la Montana was returning the favor. It would be impolite to walk out. Olivero's eyes remained fastened on Mulder. He didn't bother to try to hide his interest as his lover worked him toward orgasm. When he came, he was staring at Fox's mouth.

Fox smiled at him and said, "And to think that some people play bridge for entertainment."

Ethan stood, pulling Fox to his feet. "Yeah, well, Danny, we haven't had much experience with foursomes, have we? Though I suppose there's always a time to learn. Good night."

He looped an arm possessively around Fox's waist and led him from the room. Olivero called quietly as they exited, "Good night, Connor. Duncan."

As they started up the stairs he whispered. "Mr. Olivero was about to eat you with his eyes."

"Well, people DO tend to stare when your fly is open, but you're right. I'd have expected him to be interested, but the man was INTENSE. And something else. He got my name wrong again."

"Again?"

"Yes. He called me Duncan. That's the second time. The first was at the helicopter. He said I must have misheard him, but I didn't."

"Could be a simple mistake, like calling someone named Andy Randy."

"I don't think so, and neither do you."

"You're right. I'm going to contact our outside help tomorrow and have them look into Olivero's past a little more closely and see what they can come up with about anyone named Duncan. I don't know what it might mean, but I don't like it."

"Neither do I. He had a funny tone in his voice when he called me by that name."

"What kind?"

Mulder thought for a moment. "Possessive. Gloating. Just subtly creepy."

They'd made it up the stairs and were approaching the room. They knew that they would have to finish their talk quickly. The bugs in the room were not the most sophisticated, but they didn't want to risk saying anything incriminating if they could help it.

"I'll need to get the location of as many of his growing fields and processing labs as possible. Once we get out of here we can take them out in a way that looks like it's due to the organization's carelessness. Montana's been careful so far, and we'll need to ruin any credibility he might have, or ever have. We have to hurt him to the point where he needs help, and make sure no one trusts him enough to GIVE him that help."

They entered their room and undressed quietly, then slipped into the large bed. Fox stroked Ethan's chest, whispering, "And what's your pleasure tonight, sir?"

"I want to hold ya, Danny."

He quirked an eyebrow. "That's all?"

"Danny, love, that's enough. I think young Manuel made ya a wee bit winded, and I'm content just to be with ya." He nuzzled Fox's neck. "We have plenty of time, love. All our lives."

"Do you mean that... Connor?"

Ethan recognized the pause before the name for the question that it was, and answered him gravely. "I do indeed... Danny."

* * *

(no part 36)

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 37

Betrayal, and Revenge

When the two visitors had gone, Olivero gave Manuel's buttocks a slow, thoughtful squeeze. "Go to your own room, chico. I want to think tonight."

The dark-eyed glance that Manuel gave him was understanding. Usually he slept with Olivero, but there were certain nights, nights when he had a lot on his mind, when Manuel was sent to 'his' room. Manuel went directly there. As he stripped, he once again examined the room.

It might have been that of a typical teenage boy--back in the eighties. That 'deja vu' feel came from the posters and accessories scattered carefully around the room. On one wall was a poster of The A-Team. Manuel was familiar with that--it was quite popular on late-night television. It was the ambition of many of the lower class young men to be able to wear as many gold chains and medallions as the scowling B.A. The other poster showed two good looking young men in jeans, one fair and one dark, leaning on a souped up car. The legend said DUKES, and it had actually been signed by one of the stars, he wasn't sure which one.

Olivero had spent a lot of money to get his hands on that. One day when he was feeling particularly brave Manuel had asked him why it was so important. Olivero had just replied that that was how it had been.

Manuel removed all his clothes, then went to the dresser. Manuel had never heard the term 'preppy', and merely considered the clothes too conservative. He sighed as he extracted a pair of baggy, white cotton boxer shorts. He much preferred briefs or jockeys, but when Olivero wanted him to sleep here, he wanted him to wear these.

Manuel shut off the lights. The last thing he did before slipping into bed was unlock the French doors that opened out onto the balcony. Then he slipped between the sheets and settled down. Olivero preferred for him to be truly asleep when he came to visit, and he could tell if Manuel was faking it.

*****

Olivero had another drink after Manuel went up to bed, then turned out the lights and climbed the stairs to his own room. He did not turn on the lights, but switched on the lamp beside the bed, turning it to low. He went to the dresser and opened the top drawer, reaching inside.

He lifted out a carved wooden box, about the size of a double deck of cards. He took off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. For long minutes he just sat, running his fingers over the polished surface, tracing the delicate geometric patterns etched in the wood. Cypress wood. It wasn't a common material for these sort of things, but he'd stipulated it. Cypress trees were native to Louisiana.

Finally he lifted the lid from the box, setting it aside. The box was lined with white satin, and it held one item. Olivero reached in and lifted it out, setting aside the box.

It was a hank of hair--not very long, only about as long and thick as his middle finger. Olivero looked at it, remembering how he had prepared it. He had carefully inserted each strand into a bit of wax, then wrapped the wax in a gold-green satin ribbon. There was not danger that any of the precious hair would be lost.

The hair was a rich, dark, sable brown. Olivero passed it through his fingertips, feeling the silky glide. Closing his eyes, he lifted it to his face and sniffed deeply. The scent, still familiar after all these years, filled him, and he remembered...

*****

Twenty years earlier

Diaz watched Olivero. The young man was moving with an even greater swagger than usual. *You are very pleased with yourself, de la Montana. What have you been up to?*

He worked steadily, but Diaz noticed that his eyes kept sliding toward the door. Diaz knew what he was looking for--or rather WHO he was looking for, but Duncan didn't show up.

At lunch time they went into the kitchen, as was their habit. Olivero frowned when he saw that Luisa was alone in the kitchen. He sat at the table and opened his lunch and began to eat, but his eyes never left the door that led into the house. Diaz watched as his edginess grew. Finally Olivero said, "Luisa, is Duncan ill?"

She looked up from the potato she was peeling. "Que?"

"Duncan, the young senor. He usually joins us."

"Oh. Senor Duncan is gone."

Diaz noted the sudden flex of Olivero's fingers, but the boy's tone was casual, "He does not usually care to go into town with his mother."

"No, not into town. He is..." she made a waving motion, "gone. Back to America."

Both of the older people were startled when Olivero stood up abruptly, his chair crashing to the floor. They gaped at the tall young man, who glared at them with hot, angry eyes. "No!"

Luisa stuttered, "But... but, yes. Early this morning. The sun had not even risen when the patrone took him to the city. They were going to the airport."

"NO!"

"Olivero!" Luisa cried his name as he stalked out of the kitchen, making his way into the house. Only very select servants were allowed into the family quarters, and Olivero de la Montana was most DEFINITELY not one of the chosen few.

Olivero ignored her, moving through the lower level to the stairs. His pace increased as he walked, till he was taking the steps two at a time. Upstairs he dashed down the hall, heading for Duncan's room. He had never been there, but he knew where it was--Duncan had described it's location to him, and pointed out the window.

Downstairs he heard a babble of female voices, but they signified little. He found the door and opened it, then stepped inside. The room was neat, with none of the casual clutter he would have expected in Duncan's room. Olivero went to the closet and jerked it open. There were nothing but empty hangers on the rod, and single, battered pair of shoes discarded in the corner.

Olivero went to the dresser and pulled open each drawer, not bothering to close them. All empty. He jerked the last one from the dresser, throwing it on the floor.

"What are you DOING?"

Olivero's head jerked around, and he saw the angry Anglo woman standing in the doorway--Duncan's mother. "Where is he?"

She frowned. "You know very well that you're not allowed up here. And look at what you've done! Well, you don't have a job here anymore, I can tell you that."

He took a step toward her. "Where have you sent him, you bitch?"

Her eyes hardened. "It looks like I was right. He's back in the United States. He'll be attending a good prep school in Louisiana, where he can be with his own kind. And I didn't SEND him--he wanted to go."

Olivero felt a stab of pain. "You lie."

"Why would I lie about that? He didn't just WANT to go, he INSISTED." She shook her head. "I think the boy would have gone by rowboat if I hadn't agreed. Now, get out of here, and get off my property."

Olivero glared at her, but she didn't flinch. He almost felt a bit of respect for her--almost. He shoved past her and went down the stair, but he did not go back to the kitchen. No, he left by the front door, and he left it standing wide open. He was through using the servant's entrance.

*****

Seven months later

Bartolo entered the bar and paused near the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dim interior. It was a better class place than he was used to. They actually washed the glasses between customers. He saw the hand extend from the back booth and beckon him, and he walked back.

Olivero looked up at him. As he slipped into the seat, BArtolo reflected that Olivero's eyes were even flatter and more unreadable than they ever had been. He had always been hard, but since his chico ran away he was FRIGHTENING.

There was a bottle of whiskey and an extra glass on the table, and Bartolo helped himself to a drink. Olivero watched him, sipping his own drink, not speaking. When Bartolo poured his second drink he said simply, "Well?"

Bartolo nodded. "He is back. It is their Easter vacation. Uh... spring break? He will be there a week."

Olivero ran his fingers up and down the glass, studying the amber liquid. "This isn't quite the color of his eyes. If I added a bit of absinthe, for the green..." He swallowed the last of the drink, then poured some more.

"You going to go see him, 'Vero?"

Olivero laughed shortly. "Yes, and have the senora call the police to haul me away. No, he'll have to come to me. If he comes back to your place, send him to me."

"Si." *It won't happen, Olivero, and not because he's worried about his mother's opinion. I suppose I'll have to tell him, but I'd better be ready to jump.* He said slowly. "He... brought a friend."

Olivero went ominously still. "Yes? Tell me about this friend."

"He is one of the teachers, I think, but not old, not yet thirty. He is blond." Bartolo paused. He knew it was dangerous, but some perverse urge made him continue. "He is very handsome--muy macho."

There was a grating sound. Bartolo felt a chill up his spine. It was Olivero, gritting his teeth. But Olivero's voice was quiet. "What is this person's name?"

Bartolo frowned in concentration. "I think it is... Gilbert. Gilbert Martin." Olivero grunted. "The senora seems very happy to have him there. Luisa says the lady thinks he is a good influence on her son. He will keep the boy from what she calls his 'low tastes'." Olivero did not reply, but continued to study the liquor that he swirled in his glass.

*He's going to do something, and it's not going to be nice. It is only a question of how far he will go, and whether he goes after both of them, or just one of them,* Bartolo thought.

De la Montana had been very busy in the last few months. Without his job at the plantation to distract him, he was able to concentrate on his less legal, but much more profitable, activities.

Olivero already had another three marijuana patches, one of them a fair-sized field, and it was more than he could handle on his own. Bartolo worked for him part-time, tending and harvesting a particularly lush patch. His friend paid well, and allowed a little sampling of the product, but he still turned a hefty profit. That was due mainly to the fact that his men were diligent and honest in their accounting. It was safer that way.

One peon who had 'misplaced' a kilo of the best leaves had... strayed. One day he simply could not be found, and Olivero turned management of that particular patch over to Bartolo. Bartolo, in the process of picking the choicest leaves for delivery to a favored dealer, had discovered a large patch of bloody earth in the midst of the plants. He had kicked more dirt over it, thinking, *Something made a kill. Something.*

Being of service to such a man, Bartolo mused, might pay off in the long run. He said carefully, "Surely they will not remain on the plantation the entire time. The young senor will want to show his friend some of the local sights. The family's driver is a reasonable man. He has expressed his desire to go to his family in Bogota. A few hundred dollars would be all he would need. Then, perhaps, when the chico and his friend take a ride they may see more sights than they imagined."

Olivero smiled grimly. "An interesting suggestion, Bartolo, but who is to say that the driver will not develop a conscience, or, worse still, greed? Thank you, but no." He looked away. "I may be hard to find for the next few days."

*****

Gilbert Martin trotted backward smoothly, his arm swinging back. Then he lashed forward with vicious speed and strength. He was satisfied when he heard the *thwang* and felt the solid shock run down his arm, telling him that he'd connected solidly with the tennis ball.

The ball sizzled across the net, clearing it by a scant half inch. Duncan Broussard lunged for it, arm outstretched. He didn't make it. The ball kissed the rim of his tennis racket, smacked onto the clay court well in-bounds, then shot off to land in the lush green grass. Duncan stumbled, swearing, and barely caught himself from falling. He threw his racket down pettishly, his voice rising above the clatter and the sound of his opponent's laughter. "All those hours of lessons, and I'm no closer to beating you than I ever was!" His golden eyes narrowed as he planted his hands on his hips and stared at the other man. "Gil, I suspect you of holding out. You're only going to teach me SO much, but never enough to beat you."

The older man hopped the net with casual grace, muscles flexing in his long, brown thighs. "You're paranoid, Dunc." He pointed at the discarded racket with his own. "And spoiled, and destructive. That's a fine racket--it cost your old man a bundle."

Duncan shrugged, kicking at it. "So? It's not like he can't afford it. He's happy to pay for anything that keeps me out of his hair." His eyes glinted at the other man, and the corners of his full mouth curved in a sly smile. "That's why he was willing to pay for your ticket."

"Oh, really? So I'm supposed to be a babysitter?" Gilbert moved closer, his step fluid and lazy. As he approached, he quickly scanned the immediate area, paying particular attention to the house. He could see no one. He slid an arm around Duncan's waist and pulled the boy against his body with a quick, rough jerk.

Duncan rested his hands lightly on the older man's chest and looked up at him through his lashes, a move that never failed to heat Gilbert's blood. "Don't you LIKE being my daddy, Gil?"

Martin growled, and kissed Duncan--hard. As always, the boy's lips parted under his, his tongue snaking out to twine with Gilbert's in an erotic dance. Duncan claimed that he'd only been fucked by one other man. Gilbert was a little skeptical, but he liked the idea.

Even if he'd had scant experience with being penetrated, the little Louisiana boy certainly knew about sex. Gilbert had been delighted to find Duncan Broussard in his calculus class. At first he'd been disappointed that the boy was so good at mathmatics--he'd been hoping for intimate tutoring sessions. But then Duncan had come to him and asked for tennis lessons. (Gilbert, like most of the teachers at the small, exclusive school, had several duties, and tennis coach was one of them).

Duncan had pleaded for a late practice hour, citing other obligations and the need to study, so they had not gone to the court until nine o'clock. It was almost eleven, and the rest of the school was asleep when finally, sweaty and with Duncan sporting a grazed knee, they'd gone in to the locker room.

Gilbert had blessed the fact that the school still had (in the belief that they were teaching their students to 'rough it') a communal shower. Under the steamy spray, Gilbert had felt his mouth go dry, looking at the coltish beauty of his student. On the pretext of examining Duncan's scrape, he'd bent down, his hand on one firm, young thigh--for balance.

His eyes had wandered. He'd seen that Duncan was aroused, his cock lifting from the damp tangle of brown curls at his groin. Unable to resist, Gilbert had sunk to his knees and fellated him to a whimpering orgasm. Then he'd dragged the boy out into the locker room, bent him over a bench and fucked him, using a squirt of hair conditioner for lubrication. It had been fantastic. He and Duncan had a lot of late night practices after that.

If only the boy's parents had been away Gilbert would have pushed him down on the clay court and fucked him under the wide blue sky, but there was the scant chance that someone might came out, so he'd have to wait. He pushed his crotch against Duncan, letting him feel the warm firmness he'd created, then stepped back. "Do you know what I'm going to do with that later tonight?"

Duncan bent over to pick up the racket, deliberately pointing his ass at his lover. He knew that the sight of the firm swells, barely covered by his tight, white shorts, would inflame him even more. "Does it involve me being in a position like this?"

"You are such a little slut, Duncan."

"Yes. Aren't you grateful?"

They continued teasing each other as they walked back to the house. Neither noticed the slight rustle of the bushes near the court. If they had, they would have assumed that it was just an animal. In a way, they would have been right. Olivero squatted in the brush, his hands tearing at the grass as he watched the two men disappear into the house. He settled himself comfortably, and waited for night to fall.

*****

Duncan stretched voluptuously as Gilbert paused in pulling on his pants to watch. The boy noticed his lover's gaze. Smiling, he reached behind himself and drew his finger down the crease of his buttocks. It came away smeared with come, and he rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. "You come like a fire hose, Gil. My poor little asshole is going to be tender all day tomorrow."

Gilbert leaned over and slapped his ass lightly. "Just so long as you're ready again tomorrow night, darlin'." He sat on the edge of the bed again and probed gently at the spot Duncan had just touched. He slipped a finger into the still loosened back passage, feeling it slide easily in the spunk he'd just deposited there. Duncan shuddered and purred when Gilbert located his prostate and caressed it. "Tell me again, honey."

"Tell you what?" Duncan's voice was coy.

"You know."

Duncan laughed. He pulled free of Gilbert's probing finger and turned to throw his arms around the older man's neck. "Oh, you are so vain! All right. You're the best I ever had, Gil. Only one person ever fucked me before you, and he wasn't much better than a rutting animal. All he knew was pound, pound, pound. You--you're a real man."

"I'm better than he was," Gil demanded.

"Much better. Infinitely better. I wish I'd never let him touch me. I wish I'd waited for you to be my first."

"Your first?" Gilbert's tone was laced with irony.

Duncan slapped his shoulder. "You! All right, the first one to bugger me. Satisfied?"

Gilbert gave him a licking kiss. "For tonight, anyway." He stood up and headed toward the French doors that led out onto the balcony. His room was next door, and he'd used their shared balcony to go back and forth to Duncan's room without worrying about alerting anyone in the household.

"Do you have to go? I've slept with guys, but I've never actually SLEPT with anyone, you know?"

"I know. Maybe we can arrange something when we get back--both of us take a weekend and go to a motel." He opened the doors, and began to step out. "but until..." He made a sneezing sound.

"Till when, Gil?" No response. He could see Gil's back, his hand on the door handle, but the front of his body was obscured by the open door. Gil's hand jerked on the handle, fingers flexing. "Gil? Honey, what's wrong?"

Gilbert took a step back, turning toward Duncan. For a confused moment, Duncan thought that Gilbert must have put on one of his T-shirts while he wasn't looking--a red one. Gil made a gurgling sound, and Duncan noticed that the red did not have the matte texture of cloth, but was shiny--wet.

Giblert took a faltering step back toward the bed, and Duncan said softly, "Gil?"

He had his hands clutched over his belly. They dropped to his sides, and a glistening mass spilled over his waistband to dangle almost to his thighs.

Duncan started to hitch in deep, whooping breaths. He thought vaguely that he'd eventually let it out in a huge scream, but at the moment he didn't seem able to exhale. He just kept drawing more air in as Gilbert sank to his knees, and his dangling intestines, bathed in the blood from his slashed throat, hit the floor.

A shadowy figure moved into the room, brushing Gilbert, who slowly toppled over. Duncan drew one last huge breath, ready to scream, then the knife was held before his eyes, and he stopped. It was huge, curving, and wicked, slick with his late lover's blood. He didn't scream.

A soft voice said, "Don't scream, chico. I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to."

Duncan, unable to take his eyes off the knife, whispered, "You killed him."

"Yes. He touched what is mine. Will you cry for him, chico?"

"Olivero... please."

"Please what, chico?" Duncan scooted back on the mattress as Olivero advanced. "That's far enough." Duncan stopped with his back against the headboard. Olivero climbed on the bed, moving till he was kneeling astraddle Duncan's outstretched legs.

Olivero laid the flat of the blade against the boy's smooth cheek. "I missed you, chico. Badly." He stroked the cold steel across Duncan's cheek, and the boy whimpered. "Your bitch of a mother told me that you WANTED to go. She lied, didn't she, mi corazon?"

"I... yes, Vero. I didn't want to go. I screamed and I cried, but she made me. I didn't have any way to tell you... I didn't know how to write you. They wouldn't let me come home for Christmas."

"Poor lonely little boy." He backhanded Duncan. The only sound the boy made was a gasping sob. Olivero's voice was flat. "I watched you, Duncan, you and your stud. I listened to you." Olivero began to unfasten his pants. "I'm not much better than an animal. All I know is pound" he slapped Duncan. "Pound" He slapped him again. "Pound." A third slap.

Duncan was crying now, but too frightened to struggle, or even try to defend himself. He had been afraid of de la Montana before--now proof of all of which he was capable was bleeding on the floor.

Olivero continued talking. "He was better than I." He moved, forcing Duncan's legs apart so that he knelt between them. He grabbed Duncan's legs and jerked hard. Duncan slid down on the bed, his head striking the headboard, as Olivero hefted his knees up over his shoulders. Duncan gave a soft cry as the knife blade stabbed into the pillow beside his face, so close that he could smell Gilbert's blood on the blade. Blood, and a peculiarly earthly smell that had to be the scent of the man's bowels.

Olivero moved forward, fitting the head of his cock against the boy's still relaxed anus, and shoved in as hard as he could. "You wish I'd never touched you!" One hand came down on Duncan's mouth, stifling his scream of pain, and he raped the boy, much more violently than he had the night before he left.

Duncan rode out the assault, enduring the ripping, burning pain in his bowels, feeling the blood mingle with the semen as Olivero climaxed. *I survived this before, I can survive it again. He said he wouldn't kill me. Dear God, let it be true.*

When he was done, Duncan waited for him to pull out. He was ready to tell Olivero that Gilbert had blackmailed him into the relationship. He was ready to tell Olivero that he wanted to run away with him. He was ready to tell Olivero that he'd give him the combination to his step-father's study safe, and access to the cash and bonds therein, and tell them a story about a band of robbers who'd broken in and killed Gilbert. He was ready to tell him ANYTHING to survive.

To his horror, Olivero lay on top of him until he got hard, then took Duncan again, even more brutally than before. This time it took him longer to come. By the time he was done, Olivero didn't have to cover Duncan's mouth, because the boy didn't have the energy to scream. Even then it wasn't over. Olivero found several items in the room and used them to sodomize the mewling boy. It went on for several hours. Duncan finally, blessedly, passed out.

*****

The Senora was awakened by Luisa's screams. She went out into the hall in time to see the stout mestizo woman stumble from Duncan's room, her normally swarthy face as pale as cheese.

She caught Luisa's arm before the woman could flee. "What is it? Damn it, what's wrong?"

The sobbing woman was crossing herself, over and over. "La madre de Dios, la sangre! El senor Gilbert... Duncan pequeno..."

"Sangre? Blood?" Terror swept over her, and she shoved the woman aside, running toward her son's room. "DUNCAN!"

The scene was a surreal horror. Gilbert Martin, that sweet, courtly young man, lay on the floor before the open French doors. He was naked, save for a pair of trousers bunched around his angles, and he was a welter of blood from neck to knees. A wound gaped in his throat, and his intestines spilled over his lap and down to the floor. He looked like a poor little deer she'd come across once while walking with her husband. He had told her that the unfortunate creature had been killed by a jaguar, and that she and Duncan must be very careful, because the creatures still roamed the jungle nearby.

A whimper drew her attention to the bed. Duncan was curled in a tight ball, head tucked, hugging his knees. He was naked, and had pulled himself into the same fetal positon he had used when he floated in his mother's womb, safe from the dangers of this world. She went to him and touched him gently. "Baby! Baby, are you all right?"

Another whimper. She ran her hands over his body, looking for wounds. There was blood, and there were bruises, but she saw no cuts. She absently noticed that his hair was in wild disarray, and a large chunk seemed to be missing. The stubble of the shorn patch was bloody, and it was decided later that his hair had been cut with the same weapon that had killed the poor teacher.

"Duncan, sit up. I'm going to go call the police, but I want you to get up and come out of this room." She pried at this arms, forcing him to uncurl. "Sit up!" He lifted his head, and she gasped. There were only a few bruises on his face, and those weren't too bad, but...

*His eyes! Dear God, he looks insane.* His expression was slack, a bright cord of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were screaming. "Baby, who did this?"

Duncan shook his head slowly. His hands had been fisted at his waist. Now he held his right hand out to his mother, fingers uncurling slowly. There was a shoelace binding something to his palm, the cord drawn and knotted cruelly tight. She looked closer. It took her a moment to realize what it was. She cast a single, horrified glance at the body on the floor.

Duncan's voice was a hoarse whisper, and it was the last coherent thing he would say for a long, long time. "He... he said that... that if I wanted it so much, I should have it." Duncan's expression crumpled, his voice mournful. "And he was so GOOD with it."

*****

The present

Manuel came awake suddenly, as he always did. This time Olivero was standing over him. Sometimes he did not awaken until the large, hard body was pressing him down into the mattress.

The moonlight that seeped through the open doors glinted on Olivero's dark eyes. *Dios. It's going to be bad tonight.* His cock started to stiffen.

A soft voice said, "Don't scream, chico. I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to."

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 38  
The Pitch

Back in England

"They want clothes." Control looked at the agent who had just brought the two guests their meal. He lifted an eyebrow, and the man shrugged. "Ballard says they're not savages, and he doesn't intend to spend however long they're going to be here in the same pair of underwear, or naked."

"What did Mr. Galbraith have to say?"

The man shrugged again. "HE didn't seem to have a problem with naked."

"Hunt and Mulder left some clothes, didn't they? Give them those. No, wait." He tapped a folder lying on the desk before him, looking thoughtful. "Just bring them to me. I'll take them in." He flipped the folder open, eyeing the contents, then closed it. "I want to have a chat with them."

*****

Connor sat in the bed, back comfortably propped against the headboard. Danny sat between his spread legs, leaning back against his lover's chest, using the remote to flip idly through the television channels. He paused, and a voice boomed, "Today on the Jerry Springer Show: 'Surprise! I'm Divorcing You For Your Gay Cheating!'"

Connor groaned. "Danny, please!"

"Now wait, Con. Maybe Auntie Bettina will drag Andrew's ass on there."

Connor laughed. "I'd pay to see that. The public humiliation would hurt him worse than any financial reaming she could give him." Daniel made a humming sound. Conner slipped his arms around his lover's waist and gave him a squeeze. "What is it, love? Is it that shite again? I hate it when ya think of him. I should have killed him when I could have, then he wouldn't be in the world to trouble your mind."

"Connor..."

"I'm tellin' ya, Danny, it would have been called manslaughter at the worst. A word in the right ear and it would have been self-defense. Some cash, and it would have been justifiable homicide."

"Hush. Andrew isn't troubling me PERSONALLY. I'm beyond that now."

"Then what is it? Something is upsetting you. Well," he waved a hand around the room, "something other than this."

"I'm thinking about his next one."

"Next one?"

Danny tipped his head to look back over his shoulder, and Connor saw that his expression was serious. "He had a taste of ownership with me, and he liked it--really, REALLY liked it. I don't believe he'd give it up easily. I'm sure he's found someone else by now. What if he isn't as lucky as I was?"

Connor rubbed his chin on Daniel's bare shoulder. "Danny, love, don't. There are predators in this world, and there are prey, and ya can't save all the gazelles."

"You're so fucking poetic, love."

Connor sighed. "You'll never let me live down that sonnet, will ya?"

"I thought it was sweet. Besides, you're Irish--you're practically obligated."

The door opened and the man they'd decided was in charge of things around here came in. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"You know, in the best circles, we knock," drawled Daniel.

He locked the door behind him. "In the best circles, people generally don't have to worry about the people they're visiting beating them over the head when they get a chance." He laid a pile of clothes on the foot of the bed. "Your attire."

Daniel crawled down and began to examine the clothes. "Hmm. These aren't ours."

Control leaned against the wall. "Yours are in Colombia. Those were provided by our operatives. They chose clothes that they thought YOU would choose. How did they do?"

Daniel examined a collarless shirt of dark green linen. "Quite well, actually." He checked under the arms, and at the side seams. "And I see that they had them altered--no off the rack. Very good."

"Thank you."

"You can go now," said Connor pointedly.

"I'd like to speak to you two."

Daniel slipped on the shirt and began to button it up. "I do not have conversations with people unless I know their names." He paused. "Well, not unless I'm in a club, thinking about picking them up."

"I'm sure you'll understand that I can't tell you the name they gave me when I was born. You can call me Control." Daniel made a face. "Not that sort of control, Mr. Ballard."

Connor was studying him. Finally he jerked his chin toward the bed. "Have a seat, then. Danny, hand me those pants, eh?"

Daniel passed over a pair of khakis, then he skinned off his underwear, picked up a pair of silk briefs, and began to slither into them. He acted totally oblivious to Control, who was sitting only a couple of feet away. Control had never felt a sexual interest in another man, but he could see how a handsome man like Daniel Ballard, who was so totally uninhibited, could be hard to resist.

Connor stood and started to slip on the pants, but Daniel grabbed them away and pointed at a second pair of briefs. Connor glanced at Control. The older man smiled apologetically. "I'm sure you'll understand if I don't want to turn my back."

When Connor frowned and reached for the pants again Daniel held them away and said archly, "Darling, if we were camping in the wilds it would be one thing, but you HAVE a change of undies now. Use them."

"Bossy git." He looked at Control as he skinned out of his jockeys and took the briefs. "Why do I put up with him?"

"I suspect that you love him, Mr. Galbraith. He quite obviously loves YOU. Considering that, I think you should both listen to what I have to say."

Connor had his briefs on, and Daniel gave him the khakis. As he started to put them on he said, "Here comes the pitch, Danny."

Daniel had put on his own pants. "Shall we catch, or dodge?"

"We'll listen." Connor shrugged. "It isn't as if we have pressing appointments." They sat on the bed together, and Control again noted their comfortable intimacy. Generally, they did not use couples as operatives. There was always the chance that emotion would step in at the wrong moment, and one of the agents would act for the good of their partner instead of the good of the mission.

But there were times where a closely connected couple could be an asset to the mission. The way some couples (and Ballard and Galbraith were one of those couples) seemed to be able to communicate without words could be hightly effective. Connor and Daniel had demonstrated that they were closer than most. Their swift detection of Ethan and Fox was impressive. Control was particularly pleased with Connor's quick reaction. Fox would have been in trouble if Ethan hadn't been there. He definitely had the instincts and reflexes of a potential operative.

"As you surmised when we first met, Mr. Galbraith, we are a government agency. We are not, however, under the control of a single government. We do not officially exist. I promise you that you could spend the rest of your life looking for some paper trace of us and you would die without finding satisfaction."

He crossed his legs, folding his hands on his knees, and continued. "There are laws. There are rules of ethics and social convention. Sometimes situations arise that cannot be dealt with effectively within these strictures. When all others have thrown up their hands and declared the situation impossible, we step in."

"And precisely who the fuck is 'we'?" There was no animosity in Connor's voice, only wry curiosity.

"'We' are the Impossible Mission Force, Mr. Galbraith, and we'd like for you and your friend to come to work for us."

Both of the other men were silent. Danny and Connor exchanged looks. "Why would we want to do that?" Daniel asked.

"Mr. Ballard, I believe that you have, for some time, been attempting to persuade Mr. Galbraith to retire from his rather hazardous profession."

"I'd ask ya what was so hazardous about shipping, but it's obvious ya know that there's an unofficial side to my business."

"Yes. However, the legitimate end of your enterprise is quite substantial, and very well run."

Connor squeezed Daniel's shoulder. "Ya can thank Danny for that. I did all right before, but he's the one who's really helped me grow in the last few years. AND he's kept a solid front toward the coppers. You've never seen such a one with the books."

"We recognize Mr. Ballard's worth. The point is, you two are in a rather unique situation. You have access to people and areas that would be..." He smiled faintly, "impossible for most operatives to access. You can travel in high, or low society. Your lifestyle makes it plausible for you to be almost anywhere in the world without attracting undue interest."

"What are you proposing?" Daniel asked.

"If you and Mr. Galbraith sign on with us, we can see to it that you do not suffer finanacial loss when you phase out the less-than-legal part of your business. We can help you keep the APPEARANCE of your substance running--it will be an excellent cover. In return you'll be asked to do certain... favors for the operation. If any special training or materials are needed, they will be provided, and you will be paid for each mission."

"Do you provide a dental plan?" drawled Daniel.

"Ironically enough, we do. False teeth can be very useful for transporting certain small objects. We have dentists in our organization for that purpose, and they also provide excellent dental care."

Daniel started to say something, then looked at Connor. "I was joking. We should grab this. Do you know how HARD it is to find a job with a dental plan?"

Connor slapped his shoulder. "Daft git." He studied Control, then said slowly, "If we don't feel like playing on your team, what then?" Control said nothing. "I said 'what then?'. Do you kill us?"

"No, Mr. Galbraith, we do not. But you must realize that if you try to expose us in any way, we can not only make you look foolish and dishonest, we can see to it that your life becomes very, very uncomfortable. Both you and Mr. Ballard could spend a long, long time in prison. We wouldn't have to do much. But please note that this would only happen if you threatened our operation. We are careful, but we are not vindictive."

Now Daniel was studying him. "You wouldn't expect us to enter a twelve step program and give up drinking and clubs, would you?"

"Indeed, no. We would encourage the clubbing. It is integral to the lifestyle that would make you so valuable to us."

Control watched as Ballard's expression grew shrewd. His voice was sober. "Do you mean it? Could you help us go legit? I've already worked out plans, but they'd take some cash and a bit of leverage in the right places to come off."

"Yes, Mr. Ballard. I mean it. You don't have to make a decision immediately, of course. I expect you will be with us for several more days." He stood up. "Please consider it. Before I leave, is there anything else you want?"

Daniel smiled. "Could we talk you into a threesome?"

"Danny!" Connor groaned.

"Well, I'm bored."

Control returned the smile. "I'm flattered, but no. However, if I ever DID consider experimenting with bisexuality, Mr. Galbraith and yourself would be the ones to tempt me."

* * *

* * *

Notes: pelotas michinados: blue balls, Magicas manos: magic hands, Dios mio: my God, beso negro: black kiss (translated in previous chapter, basically rimming and anal tongue insertion performed by a man or a woman).

* * *

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar, Part 38

Mulder was awakened by a soft tap at the bedroom door. He grumbled incoherently under his breath, but sat up. He glanced at Ethan, who slitted one green eye open, smiled faintly, then closed it again. "Oh, yes. Leave me to deal with the natives." He raised his voice. "What?" At his lover's sleepy chuckle he said, "Anyone who arrives before I've had coffee takes his chances."

Manuel's voice floated to them. "Breakfast, Senor Danny."

The aroma of strong coffee reached Mulder, and he said, "Oh, very well. Come in."

The door was pushed open, and Mulder realized that locking it last night hadn't accomplished much. Manuel lifted a tray off a small table in the hall and brought it inside, balancing it carefully. "Buenos dias, gentlemen." He brought the tray to the bed and unfolded its braces, settling it over Mulder's lap.

"Manuel, what on earth do you mean by barging in here in the middle of the night?"

"It is eight o'clock, Daniel."

"Like I said," Mulder poured himself a cup of coffee from the small carafe, "the middle of the night."

He sipped the fragrant brew while Ethan sat up, rubbing his eyes. When Hunt started to lift the silver dome sitting on the china plate, Mulder slapped his hand. "Ow!"

"That was brought to me, not you."

"Greedy cow," Ethan grumbled.

"Senor Connor, I can bring you a tray, but Senor Olivero hopes that you will join him for breakfast," Manuel said.

"Huh. You get breakfast in bed, and I get rousted."

"Aw, poor baby." Fox offered his cup to Ethan, who accepted a sip of coffee. "Go be polite to our host. Besides," Mulder lifted the dome himself, peeking at the plate's contents, "I intend to eat BOTH of those croissants and all of the preserves, then go downstairs and pester the cook for more... eventually."

Ethan rolled out of bed and casually strolled naked over to the dresser. He didn't hesitate or try to cover himself, allowing Manuel a clear view. "What say, Manuel, how should I dress? Will we be goin' off into the bush much? If I ruin a good outfit, Danny'll skin me."

"I would suggest that you be prepared for a bit of hiking, senor. I am not exactly sure what Olivero intends to show you today, but some of his holdings lie in rough areas. You may very well do some traveling on foot, and our land is not very gentle. In particular you should wear sturdy boots." He smiled at Ethan angelically. "Snakes."

Fox winced. "I very well may not leave this house."

Manuel went to sit on the bed beside Mulder. "Do not worry. They usually stay off the grounds, and the grass is short enough to make them readily visible."

"I am so comforted," Fox said dryly. He picked up a buttery croissant and generously smeared guava preserves on it before taking a bite. He shook the pastry at Ethan, who was stepping into his boots, and spoke around his mouthful. "Connor, tuck your jeans in your boot tops. I don't want anything unhealthy slithering up there."

Ethan walked back to the bed, buckling his belt. He reached over and ruffled Manuel's hair, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "How didya know how much Danny loves breakfast in bed?" He grinned at Fox, who continued munching as he arched one eyebrow. "Ya just brought the one spread?" He shook his head, tsking. "Ya might want to provide one more." He smirked. "Danny loves a sweet spread, he does." Fox threw the last bite of croissant at Ethan, who dodged, laughing, and left the room in no great hurry.

Manuel picked the crumb off the bedspread and popped it in his own mouth. "You two tease each other a good deal."

"I suppose we do, but it's the good sort of teasing." He started on the other croissant. "We always follow through when it gets to the serious sort of playing, if you know what I mean."

"Si. No pelotas michinados ."

"Beg pardon?"

Manuel thought. "Eh... blue balls?"

Fox almost choked. He brushed the sheets. "Well, spraying crumbs is always attractive."

Manuel kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed beside Mulder, folding his hands behind his head. "Senor Danny, there is very, very little about you that I do not find attractive."

Fox finished the coffee and croissant, then set the tray aside on the night stand. "Oh, so there IS something about me that isn't attractive." He settled back down. "Tell. I can't improve if someone doesn't point out my meager faults, and Connor, bless him, is too besotted to be much good in that department."

Manuel turned on his side, facing Mulder. "The only thing I can think of is that you are unavailable."

Mulder turned to face him, too. "I'm not ENTIRELY unavailable." He reached out and touched Manuel's chin, then ran a finger down his throat to the middle of his chest. "I'll never leave Connor, and he's secure enough in that to allow us both a bit of room to stretch."

Manuel caught Mulder's hand and drew it back up. He licked Fox's finger, then sucked it into his mouth and rolled his tongue against it. When he released it, he said, "Would you like to finish your breakfast in bed with another spread, Danny?"

Mulder's mind was racing, even as he felt his cock beginning to stiffen. *Am I a slut, or just into my role as Danny, or... is the way I'm feeling just more or less normal? I don't know, but...* "What sort of spread did you have in mind, Manuel?"

Still smiling, Manuel stood up and stripped quickly. He lay down on his belly, wiggling comfortably, and opened his legs, resting his cheek on his crossed arms. "There are supplies in the night stand... if you have not already discovered them."

"Not yet." Mulder opened the drawer and found an assortment of condoms and lubes. He took out a tube, examining it. "Flavored." He glanced at Manuel. "Is this a hint, dear?"

In reply Manuel opened his legs ever wider, reached back, and pulled a small, glistening nub of rubber from his own anus. "A hint--yes. It is not necessary that you use it, Senor Danny." He sank one finger deep into his anal passage, and Mulder felt his cock twitch as the boy slid it slowly in and out. "As you can see, I keep myself prepared. You can take your pleasure quickly, but it would be... nice."

"Do you mean to tell me that you go around all the time with that inside you?" Manuel nodded. "You were wearing it when you picked us up at the airport, and at the club?" Another nod. Manuel pressed another finger into himself, pumping them deep. "When you ripped my shirt?" A slow smile, and another nod. "My God."

Mulder found that he was as hard as a stone at the idea. He quickly uncapped the lubricant and squeezed the clear gel onto his fingers. He moved over to kneel between his open knees. "Get your hand out of there, young one. Give me some room to operate."

Manuel obliged, sighing happily as he felt Mulder's longer fingers replace his own. They sank in easily. Mulder stroked over the sides of Manuel's anus, feeling for Manuel's prostate. He found it quickly--a small, firm bump. Manuel's back arched, and his hands worked at the sheets. "Ah! Magicas manos."

"I'm not sure what you just said, but it sounded complimentary."

"It was, Danny."

"This may be a bit cold." He pulled his fingers out and inserted the tip of the tube, then squeezed. Manuel made a soft sound that wasn't quite a moan. "Sorry, pet. Let me make it up to you." He pushed the firm cheeks apart and bent down.

Manuel hissed in pleasure as Mulder's tongue flicked out, swiping over the crinkle of his asshole. It was different from the times he'd done this with Ethan. Before he'd always had to spend some time massaging the tight ring of muscle to get it to relax for him. This time he was able to push his tongue into the slick opening with almost no resistance. There was something undeniably erotic about having the young man so ready without having to coax and tease him along.

Mulder licked deep, then pulled back. He kneaded the boy's ass, and his voice was amused, "Manuel, were you trying to be ironic by giving me cherry lube?"

Manuel shrugged nonchalantly. "I am afraid it is the only way you will have anything cherry with me, Danny. Please?" Mulder bent back down and went back to work. He tongue fucked the younger man, alternating his tongue thrusts by sucking at the moist opening. Soon the boy was moaning quietly, rubbing his hard cock against the sheets. "Ay, Dios mio. How I love the beso negro."

Mulder paused, then said, "My lord. Your boss made an indecent suggestion to me on the way to the club, didn't he?"

"He only expressed a desire to give you pleasure, Daniel, like you are giving me."

"Well, that's... that's... That gives a person pause."

"Nooo, Daniel," he purred. "Do not pause, please."

"Um." Mulder shrugged. "Well, I suppose it's only to be expected. After all, I AM irresistible. I can't fault the man." He rolled a condom down his shaft and squeezed Manuel's buttocks. "Are you ready for me, sugar?"

"Very ready. Do not hesitate, Daniel."

Mulder lifted Manuel's hips a little and moved in closer. He fitted his cock head to Manuel's asshole and pushed gently. There wasn't much resistance, but once he was inside, Manuel's flesh clung to him snugly. He had expected at least some resistance, but Manuel took his entire length with only a pleased murmur.

It was very nice, very nice. Mulder hadn't had a huge number of female partners, and Ethan was the only man he'd ever fucked, so he didn't have all that much for comparison, but as far as he was concerned, Manuel was a choice piece of ass. Mulder began to stroke into the hot, tight depths.

"Yes, Danny, yes. Mm, so good. But do not be so gentle, my friend. Harder." Mulder strengthened his thrusts, pulling almost all the way back before he plunged back in, plumbing his depths fully. Manuel grunted happily and began to push back to meet him. But soon it wasn't enough. He panted, "Harder, amigo, harder! I need more."

Mulder was already fucking Manuel harder than he ever had any other partner. "Jesus, kid, I don't want to hurt you."

Manuel looked back over his shoulder, eyes hot, and snarled. "Hurt me, Danny! I want it! Fuck me hard."

Mulder was shocked by the intensity and hunger in the younger man's voice. He knew that there were some who ENJOYED pain during sex, but he hadn't run into one before. He hesitated. *I don't WANT to hurt him, even if it IS what he wants. I don't get off on causing pain. If I let myself...*

"DAMN YOU!" Manuel squeezed down hard, his rectum clamping down on Mulder's cock so hard that it was literally painful. At the same time he lashed backward, and his nails scored Mulder's chest.

Something snapped. Mulder slammed into the boy with a growl and began fucking him like an animal. Manuel cried out in pain, lust, and triumph. He ground and squirmed, fighting as much as fucking, and Mulder was carried along. He lost himself in the mindless rutting. Reaching beneath their bodies he found Manuel's rigid, weeping cock and tugged on it roughly. The boy screamed and his seed flooded Mulder's hands. He seemed to convulse around Mulder's impaling prick, and the spasms drew Mulder over the edge. Mulder humped against him, into him a few more times and shot into the rubber.

Manuel's voice was thick. "I wish we did not need the condom, Danny. I'd love to feel your come fill me, but that is a privilege that my master reserves for himself."

Mulder withdrew carefully, expecting to find his cock smeared with blood, but there was none, only the stickiness of lube and Manuel's natural moisture. He marveled as he stripped the condom off, dropping it into the wastebasket by the bed. "I don't believe it. I think I'd need a transfusion if anyone fucked me like that."

Manuel stretched. "It is what I am accustomed to. It is what I like." Mulder took the napkin off the tray and used it to wipe himself, then Manuel.

The boy did not object to this tenderness. He spread his legs again. When Mulder wiped down the crease of his ass, he wiggled backward so that Mulder's cloth covered finger dipped shallowly into his still open hole. "Good God, don't you EVER get enough?"

"I do not think there IS enough, Danny." He giggled. "I want to see Conchita's face when she finds that napkin in the wash." He got up, and Mulder was surprised at how easily he moved. He would have thought he would be moving with difficulty for some time. Instead he retrieved the butt plug from the mattress and took it into the bathroom.

Mulder got up and followed him, leaning in the doorway as Manuel scrubbed the toy carefully with soap and hot water. When he was done he handed the still warm plug to Mulder, braced his hands on the counter, and bent at the waist, spraddle-legged. "If you would, Danny?"

Feeling a mixture of titilation and something bordering on revulsion, Mulder nudged the rounded head up against Manuel's rectum. It slid in easily, but the sphincter closed around the knob at its base, holding it in place. "Gracias." Manuel went back into the bedroom and began dressing. "Go back to bed, if you wish. I doubt our men will be back in time for lunch, and there is nothing you need to do. When you are ready, I will be here to amuse you," he trailed a hand down Fox's chest as he passed him "...in any way you wish."

For a moment after Manuel left, Fox just stared at the closed door. Then he sat heavily on the bed, falling back across it to gaze up at the ceiling. *What the fuck just happened? I screwed his brains out, but I still feel like HE was using ME.*

=====  
It's the same old story, everywhere I go. I get slandered, libeled--I hear words I never heard in the Bible. I'm just tryin' to keep my customers satisfied... (Paul Simon)

We do not stand on ceremony here. We lay down on it and suck it dry. (Brian Kelly)

The difference between men and women: A man looks at a woman, and he sees her undressed. A woman looks at a man, and she sees him BETTER dressed.

Shall we wait for an angel to pass? (Herbie, The Fearless Vampire Killers)

  
Archived: December 31, 2001 


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